5  OWfl  COUNTRY 


MAC 


•  ;^c  ^^ 


•-" 


IN  SUNFLOWER  LAND. 


I 


N  SUNFLOWER  LAND 

STORIES  OF  GOD'S  OWN 
COUNTRY  BY  ROSWELL 
MARTIN  FIELD 


F.  J.  SCHULTE  &   COMPANY 
CHICAGO  .       .  MDCCCXCII 


Copyright,  1892, 
BY  FRANCIS  J.  SCUFLTK. 

ALL   RHtHTS    KESKHVKP. 


S   '  ' 


To  MY  WIFE. 


JM713378 


tUljcit  tl)c  Book  <£ontam0. 

THE  OLD  CRANK  - 
WHAT  BROKE  UP  THE  LITERARY    - 

HE  PLAYED  WITH  THOMAS        -  -      53 

TUBES  OF  KANSAS  67 

How  THE  LORD  REMEMBERED  CURLY  -  •      81 

THE  INVOLUNTARY  MARRIAGE        -  97 

COLONEL  BOLLINGER       -  *    109 

THE  DEAF  EAR  •                    125 

THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  CRIME    -  -    143 

THE  OLD  MAJOR'S  STORY      -  163 

SWEETHEART  1~~ 

THE  POLITICAL  WANDERINGS  OF  JOSEPH  MACON  19.'? 

THE  DISTRIBUTION  -    207 

THAT  AWFUL  Miss  BOULDER  227 

THE  LUCK  OF  SILAS  SCOTT  -    247 


Qld 


THE  OLD  CRANK. 


WESTWARD  from  the  Mississippi,  between  the 
thirty-sixth  and  fortieth  parallels  of  latitude,  in 
the  very  heart  of  the  greatest  nation  of  the  earth, 
lie  two  empires.  Not  empires,  indeed,  in  the  com 
mon  significance  of  man's  imperial  sway,  with  the 
gay  gildings  and  trappings  of  the  court,  and  the 
autocratic  rule  of  royalty,  but  empires  of  nature, 
glorious  in  the  results  of  a  few  brief  years  of 
experiment,  more  glorious  in  the  incalculable  possi 
bilities  of  development  awaiting  the  homeseeker. 
Wherever  the  traveler  goes  in  these  great  empires, 
in  wagon,  boat  or  railway  car,  he  sees  the  monarch 
of  the  realm,  turn  where  he  may.  Far  to  the  north 
and  east,  on  through  the  south  and  west,  this  jolly 
monarch  keeps  at  the  side  of  the  flying  train,  to  the 
end  of  his  dominions,  where  the  roads  begin  to 
lead  to  the  clouds  and  the  cool  air  rushes  down 
from  the  mountains.  No  traveler  asks  who  this 
jolly  monarch  is.  No  man  forgets  his  allegiance 
to  powerful,  affluent,  smiling  old  King  Corn. 

If  Corn  is  king,  then  Sunflower  is  the  queen,  for 
hand  in  hand  they  go  over  the  wide  rolling  prairies 
in  their  dress  of  golden  yellow,  the  one  typifying 


10 

the  spirit  of  industry,  the  other  content  with  its 
lofty  bearing  and  its  regal  beauty.  A  worthy 
queen  is  the  stately  Sunflower  to  old  King  Corn. 

And,  in  the  main,  very  happy  and  contented  are 
the  favored  subjects  of  this  prosperous  monarch. 
For  twenty-five,  fifty  and  seventy  years  of  experi 
ence  have  shown  them  that  he  is  steady  and  reli 
able,  faithful  to  those  who  call  upon  him,  and 
never  failing  those  who  cultivate  him.  So  these 
subjects,  with  such  deviation  as  national  and 
political  exigency  has  prescribed,  have  gone  their 
ways,  content  with  present  abundance  and  careless 
of  outside  comment ;  have  lived  their  lives  in  their 
own  manner,  sung  their  songs,  and  cherished  their 
traditions  until  modern  progress  came  to  the  fail- 
dominion  and  knocked  at  the  gate;  That  was  the 
beginning  of  the  new  Missouri  and  the  new 
Kansas.  Whether  it  destroyed  the  charm  of  the 
older  life,  or  by  its  benefits  atoned  for  the  inva 
sion,  they  may  say  who  will.  But  is  it  not  true 
that  the  literature,  the  poetry,  the  romance  of  a 
country  turns  to  humanity  in  its  simple,  original 
type,  and  finds  its  material  where  the  rushing 
spirit  of  the  century  has  produced  the  least  efface- 
ment  ? 

A  man  who  has  traveled  much  through  this 
land  of  King  Corn,  and  whose  business  has  brought 
him  into  close  contact  with  the  inner  life  of  the 
people,  once  waggishly  remarked  that  Missouri 


The  Old  Crank.  11 

and  Kansas  are  inhabited  by  two  classes  of  human 
beings,  Missourians  and  Kansans.  It  might  have 
been  replied,  with  Horatio,  that  "  there  needs  no 
ghost  come  from  the  grave  to  tell  us  this,"  but  the 
jocose  gentleman  spoke  with  a  deeper  significance 
than  the  mere  words  might  convey.  The  fact  that 
underlies  the  statement,  and  the  fact  that  im 
pressed  itself  upon  him,  is  that  the  Missourian 
and  the  Kansan,  each  in  his  way,  have  far  more 
than  the  ordinary  amount  of  State  pride.  The 
Missourian  is  unaggressive,  quiet,  but  not  a  whit 
less  proud  than  the  Kansan.  He  knows  perfectly 
well  the  ridicule  that  has  been  heaped  upon  his 
State.  He  has  heard  all  the  songs,  all  the  railroad 
and  circus  jokes  at  the  expense  of  the  "Pikers," 
and,  for  that  matter,  he  repeats  them  with  a  good 
deal  of  relish.  For  he  realizes  the  remarkable  re 
sources  of  his  State,  its  rank  in  the  Union,  its 
illimitable  possibilities,  its  steady  and  sure  growth, 
and  its  exemption  from  the  afflictions  that  have 
disturbed  other  less  favored  commonwealths.  He 
knows  that  the  "  Piker  "  is  rapidly  passing  away, 
and  that,  in  a  few  years,  "  Joe  Bowers  "  will  be  a 
myth,  and  his  descendants  will  repudiate  him. 
Perhaps,  even  now,  the  Missourian,  as  he  shrugs 
his  shoulders  at  the  last  joke  perpetrated  by  the 
untraveled  Eastern  man,  thinks  to  himself  that 
the  two  jocular  bears  on  the  State  seal  might  be 


12  TJte  Old  Crank. 

credited  with  the  appropriate  remark,  "He  laughs 
best  who  laughs  last. " 

The  Kansan  is  a  natural  fighter.  His  State 
had  its  baptism  in  blood,  and  its  children  have 
grown  up  in  the  atmosphere  of  battle.  It  is 
true  of  humanity  that  we  always  think  the  most 
of  those  things  that  have  cost  us  the  greatest 
trouble.  It  is  possible  that  a  tendency  to  exag 
geration  springs  from  this  same  cause.  The  old- 
time  Kansan  is  attached  to  the  State  he  fought 
for  and  bled  for.  There  is  sincerity  even  in  his 
exaggeration,  and  drought,  hot  winds  and  grass 
hoppers,  one  after  the  other,  cannot  silence  his 
tongue  or  shake  his  conviction  that  he  lives  in 
God's  own  country  and  in  the  particular  locality 
that  the  Creator  would  select  for  his  terrestrial 
residence.  Ko  reasoning,  no  logic  can  confound 
the  Kansan.  Figuratively  speaking,  you  may 
knock  him  down,  but  you  cannot  knock  him  out. 
As  an  instance  in  point,  it  is  related  that  one  day, 
after  a  seemingly  endless  stretch  of  the  most  hor 
rible  weather,  the  sun  came  out.  The  air  was  soft 
and  balmy,  the  sky  took  on  the  deep  summer  blue, 
and  all  the  conditions  were  as  perfect  as  the  most 
exacting  could  demand.  The  Kansas  man  was 
equal  to  the  occasion,  and  began  to  descant  on  the 
beauties  of  the  Kansas  climate.  "Now,  this,"  he 
said,  "is  a  typical  Kansas  day." 

"But  how  about  yesterday,  and  the  day  before, 


The  Old  Crank.  1:5 

and  the  day  before  that,  aiid  last  week,  and  the 
week  before  ?"  asked  the  stranger  within  the  gates. 

"Oh,"  answered  the  Kansan,  perfectly  una 
bashed,  "that  is  the  kind  of  -  -  weather  we  used 
to  have  back  in  Indiana." 

What  can  be  said  to  an  exuberance,  a  loyalty 
and  a  confidence  like  that  ?  Why  can  -the  world 
wonder  that  a  State  peopled  by  such  enthusiasts, 
and  advertised  with  such  devotion  and  pride,  has 
grown  beyond  the  limit  of  precedent. 

Every  school  history  of  the  present  day  tells 
under  what  stormy  and  peculiar  conditions  Kansas 
began  to  shape  itself  forty  years  ago.  From  the 
outset  it  was  a  Mecca  for  the  eccentric  people  now 
commonly  known  as  cranks,  and  from  that  day  to 
this  not  an  ism  has  presented  itself  to  the  sister 
hood  of  States  that  Kansas  has  not  felt  its  full 
force.  How  far  these  strange  people  have  left 
their  impress  on  the  State,  and  to  what  extent  they 
have  bequeathed  to  their  descendants  an  inherit 
ance  of  whims  and  fads  and  fleeting  popular  fan 
cies,  let  those  answer  who  can.  This  tale  has  only 
to  do  with  the  result  of  a  certain  chain  of  circum 
stances,  the  product  of  peculiar  conditions.  De 
pend  upon  it  the  hero  will  stand  on  his  record 
and  consent  to  be  judged  at  the  final  day  by  his 
merits. 

The  people  who  knew  him,  and  had  looked  him 
over  in  all  his  important  bearings  and  ramifica- 


14  TJie  Old  ('rani'. 

tions,  agreed  that  he  was  just  a  plain,  old-fash 
ioned,  evcry-day  Kansas  crank. 

From  this  it  must  not  be  inferred  that  every 
body  who  happens  to  live  in  Kansas  is  a  crank, 
and  it  is  not  to  be  contended  that  everybody  who 
happens  to  be  a  crank  lives  in  Kansas.  In  fact, 
it  is  not  altogether  assured  that  the  Kansas  crank 
is  more  dangerous  or  uncomfortable  that  the  Mas 
sachusetts  crank,  or  the  Mississippi  crank,  the 
crank  who  infests  the  prairies  of  Illinois,  or  the 
crank  who  lives  in  the  sage-brush  and  alkali  regions 
of  Nevada.  There  may  be  more  of  him,  his  ideas 
may  be  a  little  more  generally  distributed,  and  he 
may  be  more  interesting  as  a  panorama  of  eccen 
tricities,  but  doubtless  he  is  a  very  lovable  and 
amusing  person,  is  this  Kansas  crank,  when  you 
do  not  chance  to  rub  up  against  his  pet  theories 
and  regulations  of  life. 

It  does  not  follow  that  the  old  Kansas  crank  was 
born  a  crank.  In  all  probability  he  passed  a  mod 
erately  happy  and  uneventful  childhood  in  Ohio 
or  Indiana,  and  came  to  Kansas  in  the  fifties  — 
suppose  we  say  '57.  Those  were  wild  times  on 
the  border,  and  it  is  worth  the  trouble  and  the 
money  to  entice  an  old  crank  across  the  prohibi 
tion  line,  and  fill  him  full  of  good  red  liquor  to 
loosen  his  tongue,  that  he  may  "shoulder  his 
crutch"  and  talk  about  the  past ;  how  he  "fit  with 
old  John,"  and  how  many  Democrats  he  sent  to 


The  Old  Crank.  15 

the  judgment  bar.  All  these  things  are  peculiar 
to  the  old  crank,  but  they  concern  us  not  at  this 
particular  point. 

When  the  war  broke  out  the  crank  started  to  the 
front.  He  was  not  much  of  a  crank  in  1861,  but 
he  was  a  Union  man  and  a  fighter  from  the  top  of 
his  bristling  hair  to  the  soles  of  his  heavy  boots, 
and  the  crankier  he  became  the  harder  he  fought, 
which  may  be  explained  on  the  simple  principles 
of  indigestion.  He  was  not  one  of  your  sixty  or 
ninety-day  fighters.  He  enlisted  for  the  war,  took 
in  every  important  skirmish  that  came  his  way, 
and  went  with  Sherman  to  the  sea.  There  is  a  story 
to  the  effect  that  when  he  reached  the  sea  the  old 
crank  was  consumed  with  regret,  and  would  fain 
have  marched  the  entire  distance  back  on  the 
same  gentle  and  philanthropic  mission. 

At  the  close  of  the  war  he  returned  to  Kansas, 
and,  incident  to  a  peaceful  agricultural  life,  was 
elected  to  the  legislature  on  an  anti-monopoly 
platform.  No  man  —  that  is,  no  Kansan  —  can 
be  said  to  have  achieved  a  modicum  of  worldly  dis 
tinction  and  delight  until  he  has  been  elected  to 
the  legislature.  The  crank  was  true  to  his  prin 
ciples  :  he  was  chosen  as  an  anti-monopolist,  and  he 
walked  to  Topeka.  That  was  the  discharge  of  the 
first  public  duty  of  the  crank. 

One  day  the  crank  was  in  Emporia.  He  was 
getting  along  in  years,  and  his  lot  was  lonely. 


1G  The  Old  Crank. 

Political  honor  had  not  crowded  upon  him,  and  he 
yearned,  or  thought  he  yearned,  for  the  rest  and 
quiet  of  domestic  life.  As  chance  would  have  it, 
or,  rather,  as  fate  invariably  directs  it  in  this  modest 
town  of  Emporia,  he  was  persuaded  to  attend  a 
"  social  "  at  the  State  normal  school.  Now  there  are 
various  kinds  of  amusement  in  this  carnal  world, 
but  the  decision  is,  from  the  examination  of  such 
data  as  can  be  collected,  that  a  "  normal  social "  is, 
of  all  diversions,  the  most  unoffending  and  innocu 
ous.  It  is  related  of  a  certain  eminent  Methodist 
divine,  who  is  now  with  John  Wesley  in  the  man 
sions,  that,  gazing  upon  the  deep  solemnity  of  one 
of  these  "socials,"  he  paraphrased  Scripture  in 
saying  :  "  Behold  festivities  indeed  in  which  there 
is  no  guile." 

As  the  crank  entered  upon  the  scene  of  splendor 
the  grand  march  was  in  progress,  and  the  happy- 
company,  two  by  two,  paraded  the  hall,  singing  the 
Kansas  national  hymn:  "John  Brown's  body  lies 
a-mouid'rin'  in  the  grave."  The  heart  of  the 
crank  was  stirred.  The  old  war  spirit  came  back, 
and  in  the  "Glory,  glory,  hallelujah,"  he  let  out 
his  voice  with  a  boom  that  shook  the  rafters. 
And  the  crank  was  further  attracted  by  the  fine 
figure  of  a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  one  of  the 
leading  spirits  of  the  entertainment.  She  was,  per 
haps,  thirty  years  of  age,  tall,  willowy,  sharp-feat 
ured,  with  a  high  forehead,  and  the  unmistakable 


The  Old  Crank.  17 

air  of  a  school-ma'am.  Her  attire  was  severely 
chaste.  She  was  dressed  in  dove-colored  alpaca, 
high-fitting  at  the  neck,  with  plain  Avalst  and  full 
skirt.  Her  only  ornaments  were  a  pair  of  mussel- 
shell  ear-rings,  and  a  striking  cameo  pin  at  her 
throat.  In  her  hair,  which  fell  over  her  temples 
and  curved  down  and  gracefully  behind  her  ears, 
she  had  placed  a  modest  wild  verbena  with  shoe 
string  foliage. 

In  the  opinion  of  the  crank  to  see  her  was  to 
love  her.  To  her  mind,  there  never  was  a  more 
striking  illustration  of  a  proper  man.  Their  court 
ship  was  brief  and  fervent.  The  lady,  with  the 
austere  simplicity  of  advanced  maidenhood,  re 
hearsed  the  minute  details  of  her  arduous  life,  and 
the  crank  went  over  and  over  again  the  great  and 
irrepressible  conflict  of  the  rebellion,  wherein  he 
had  played  a  bloody  and  conspicuous  part.  And 
the  bride  elect  looked  on  her  hero  with  kindling 
eyes,  and,  perchance,  wished,  with  Desdemona, 
that  "heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man."  And 
so,  in  the  fall,  when  the  golden  tint  was  on  the 
Kansas  forests,  they  were  married,  and  extended 
their  bridal  tour  to  the  State  Fair  at  Topeka, 
where,  hand  in  hand, "they  looked  at  the  fat  stock, 
and  carefully  noted  the  agricultural  products  and 
the  latest  dairy  improvements. 

Well,  the  old  crank  and  his  wife  went  back  to  the 
farm,  and  a  pretty  middling  sort  of  farm  it  was, 


18  The  Old  Crank. 

with  its  acres  of  grain,  its  pleasant  orchard  and 
the  little  brown  frame  house  near  the  road.  This 
house  was  originally  disposed  to  be  whitish,  but 
the  old  crank  slapped  on  a  coat  of  brown  paint ; 
something,  he  said,  to  be  a  perpetual  reminder  of 
old  John.  It  was  plainly  furnished,  it  is  true, 
but  peace  and  contentment  abode  therein,  save 
when  the  old  crank  went  on  a  rural  "high," 
which  he  occasionally  did  in  those  unregenerate 
days.  And  the  school-ma'am,  out  of  the  prompt 
ings  of  an  artistic  nature,  procured  a  Ilamlin  cab 
inet  organ,  from  which,  after  much  internal  remon 
strance  and  apparently  piteous  protest,  she  evolved 
"The  Storm,"  and  "Lincoln's  Funeral  March," 
and  various  gems  from  a  collection  of  war  songs, 
which  besought  the  boys  to  "  rally  'round  the  flag" 
and  to  "hang  Jeff  Davis  to  a  sour  apple  tree," 
with  reminiscences  of  coming  home  to  die,  dear 
mother,  and  of  sitting  in  a  prison  cell,  and  of 
"  marchin'  through  Georgy. "  And  when  the  neigh 
bors  came  in  and  began  to  air  their  accomplish 
ments,  the  old  crank  would  turn  to  the  good  wife 
and  say  :  "  Marthy,  touch  us  up  Gen'ral  Persifer 
F.  Smith's  march."  And  at  the  conclusion  of 
this  spirited  number  he  would  look  at  the  humili 
ated  braggarts  with  a  quiet  gleam  in  his  eye,  as 
one  who  would  say:  "What  do  you  think  o' 
that  ?  " 
And  they  had  a  little  library,  too.  But  the  old 


The  Old  Crank.  19 

crank  "allowed"  he  didn't  go  much  on  cheap, 
popular  literature,,  while  he  could  get  the  Kansas 
agricultural  reports,  with  an  occasional  invoice  of 
Congressional  Records.  Wilder 's  Annals  lay 
conspicuously  on  the  table,  and  a  very  well-thumbed 
and  dirty  page  was  that  which  announced  the  old 
crank's  election  to  the  legislature.  And  there 
were  also  lives  of  famous  Union  generals,  and  the 
Kansas  herd-book,  and  later  on  the  great  campaign 
record  of  Elaine  and  Logan.  And  there  were 
certain  treatises  of  a  spiritual  nature  from  a  Wes- 
leyan  standpoint,  for,  as  was  the  custom  of  the 
country,  the  old  crank  was  a  stanch  Methodist,  a 
class-leader  and  an  exhorter,  and,  when  engaged  in 
fervent  spiritual  work,  his  voice  could  be  heard 
over  the  bending  corn  a  third  of  a  mile  away, 
heaving  wrath  and  dispensing  salvation. 

As  time  went  on,  the  good  wife  encouraged  the 
old  crank  to  dabble  a  little  in  pictures  and  decora 
tive  art.  Their  first  venture  was  a  popular 
chromo  of  old  Osawatomie.  To  this  was  added  a 
stirring  picture  of  General  Grant  erecting  a  log- 
cabin.  Then  followed  a  framed  certificate  of  life 
membership  in  the  Bible  society;  and  then,  in 
quick  succession,  a  series  of  religious  scenes  and 
devotional  allegories  :  John  Wesley's  Death-bed,  the 
three  Christian  Graces,  and  Faith  clinging  to  the 
cross.  And  one  day  the  good  wife  brought  home 
"Fruits  and  Flowers,"  which  she  had  acquired  at 


20  The  Old  Crank. 

an  auction,  and  the  gallery  was  pronounced  com 
plete.  But  in  her  deft  feminine  way  she  went 
methodically  about  further  to  beautify  the  home  ; 
and  when  the  old  crank  sent  out  the  parlor  furni 
ture,  tastefully  upholstered  with  horse  hair,  she 
worked  tidies  crocheted  in  wondrous  tints  of  yel 
low  and  green  ;  and  one  merry  Christmas  morn 
the  old  crank  rolled  out  of  bed  to  stare  at  "  God 
Bless  Our  Home'1  delicately  wrought  in  crewel. 
Beautiful  wax  flowers  carefully  covered  with  a 
glass  globe  rested  on  a  marble- top  table,  and  a 
dish  of  luscious  wax  fruits  looked  down  from  the 
mantel. 

To  those  who  gained  the  full  confidence  of  the 
old  crank  he  showed  his  secret  treasures,  his  pre 
cious  relics  of  old  John.  There  was  the  deadly  pike 
with  which  John  Brown  went  forth  to  battle  for 
the  Lord,  and  there  was  the  scarf  or  tippet  which 
he  had  dropped  in  a  sudden  flight.  And  there 
were  twenty  other  mementoes,  each  with  its  appro 
priate  story.  But  last,  and  most  precious  of  all, 
was  a  hideous  human  skull,  taken  from  the  loath 
some  remains  of  a  Plattc  County  Democrat,  whom 
old  John  had  cut  off  in  the  flower  of  his  iniquity. 
And  the  old  crank  would  roll  that  skull  about  in 
his  great  horny  hands  and  cry  :  "  His  enemies  shall 
lick  the  dust ;  his  name  shall  endure  forever  !" 

The  old  crank  was  a  Granger.  It  came  right 
along  in  line  with  his  principles.  And  very  con- 


The  Old  CranL  21 

sistont  he  was,  and  little  found  its  way  into  the 
premises  that  did  not  come  straight  from  the 
Grange  store.  And  he  knew  a  thing  about  labor- 
saving  machinery,  and  experimented  with  wind 
mills  and  rakes  and  harrows  and  pumps  and  clothes- 
wringers,  and  devices  for  setting  hens,  and  ingen 
ious  contrivances  for  destroying  potato-bugs,  while 
little  by  little  they  accumulated  until  they  occu 
pied  a  separate  shed.  And  when  the  grasshoppers 
came  and  made  a  clean  sweep  of  vegetation,  the 
old  crank  went  out  to  gaze  at  the  ruin,  and  he 
turned  and  looked  at  the  shed,  and  said,  ruefully  : 
"Marthy,  we've  got  them  darned  things  yet. 
Even  the  "hoppers  wouldn't  touch  'em." 

The  Greenback  wave  swept  over  the  land,  and 
the  old  crank  was  the  first  to  send  in  his  allegiance. 
Mighty  were  the  speeches  he  made  at  the  local 
political  gatherings,  and  powerful  and  irrefutable 
were  his  arguments,  in  the  opinion  of  his  admir 
ing  neighbors.  And  in  the  councils  of  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic  he  was  the  acknowledged 
chief,  and  no  camp-fire  blazed  without  his  presence, 
and  not  a  pot  of  beans  was  cooked  that  did  not  feel 
his  practiced  touch. 

But  if  there  was  one  subject  to  which  the  old 
crank's  soul  went  unrestrainedly  out,  it  was  —  pen 
sions.  He  believed  in  pensions,  for  he  enjoyed  one 
himself.  He  had  proved  beyond  cavil  that  he  had 
lost  two-seventeenths  of  one  eye.  They  gave  him 


22  The  Old  drank. 

£8  a  month.  Then  he  found  that  he  \vas  minus 
three-eighths  of  the  lobe  of  a  lung.  They  made  it 
$12.  Then  he  discovered  that  he  was  subject  to 
four-elevenths  of  dysentery.  They  raised  it  to  $20. 
Then  he  stumbled  across  rheumatism  ;  then  his 
hearing  became  impaired,  the  result  of  the  burst 
ing  of  a  shell  at  Corinth,,  and  at  the  time  of  his 
death  he  was  engaged  in  proving  that  he  was 
the  victim  of  chronic  catarrh  contracted  in  the 
Wilderness. 

Throughout  the  State  of  Kansas  there  was  no 
more  ardent  Prohibitionist  (in  theory)  than  the 
old  crank.  He  believed  in  prohibition  because  it- 
was  "suthin'  new  and  progressive/'  and  because 
the  Democrats  didn't  believe  in  it.  The  old  crank 
hated  a  Democrat  with  all  the  fervor  of  his  strong 
nature.  He  hated  Missouri  because  it  was  gov 
erned  by  the  Democratic  party.  "When  he  went 
"back  east,"  as  he  occasionally  did,  he  pulled  down 
the  shutters  of  his  window  in  the  car  at  Kansas 
City,  and  neither  stirred  out  nor  looked  out  until 
the  Illinois  line  was  reached.  And  once,  when  the 
train  was  delayed  twelve  hours  by  a  wreck,  he 
refused  to  leave  the  car  to  procure  refreshment, 
for,  as  he  subsequently  explained  to  his  constit 
uents,  he  "didn't  believe  in  encouragin'  rebel 
institutions." 

Capital  punishment  was  another  phase  of  human 
industry  in  which  the  old  crank  did  not  believe. 


The  Old  Crank.  23 

That  is,  he  did  not  believe  in  official  executions. 
But  when  a  couple  of  frisky  fellows  made  too  free 
with  the  horses  of  his  immediate  neighborhood, 
the  old  crank  turned  out  with  the  boys  and  hanged 
them  to  a  cottonwood,  explaining  that  he  had 
every  reason  to  believe  "they're  Democrats,  any 
how."  And  female  suffrage  was  another  of  his 
hobbies.  He  registered  every  woman  on  the  place, 
and  on  the  morning  of  election  he  gathered  them 
together  and  said  :  "  To  register  and  vote  is  the 
sacred  duty  of  every  man  and  woman  in  Kansas, 
free,  glorious  Kansas.  So  we'll  now  go  up  and 
vote  for  old  Bill  for  mayor."  And  they  did.  The 
old  crank  saw  that  they  did. 

In  a  national  election  the  old  crank's  fidelity  to 
the  Republican  party  never  waned.  Crank  though 
he  was,  there  was  no  mugwumpishness  mixed  with 
his  politics.  He  was  red-hot  for  the  nominee  every 
time.  When  Blaine  was  nominated  the  old  crank 
went  stark,  staring  mad.  He  organized  a  Blaine 
club.  He  went  to  all  the  rallies.  He  made  war 
speeches.  He  paraded  with  the  boys  and  spilled 
coal  oil  down  his  back  with  nightly  regularity. 
In  short,  he  went  in  to  save  the  country.  But 
when  the  news  came  that  Blaine  was  defeated  it 
nearly  broke  the  old  crank's  heart.  "Marthy," 
he  said,  "  I've  seen  the  'hoppers  come  an'  nigh  eat 
us  out  o'  house  an'  home.  I've  fought  the  drought 
an'  potato-bugs.  I've  been  down  with  the  malarv, 


^4  The  Old  Crank. 

an'  felt  hard  times  press  on  us,  an'  I've  uercr  com 
plained.  But  now  I  cry  out  with  Job:  'The  earth 
is  given  into  the  hand  of  the  wicked:  he  covereth 
the  faces  of  the  judges  thereof.  Oh,  that  I  had 
given  up  the  ghost  and  no  eye  had  seen  me.' " 

And  on  the  day  of  Cleveland's  inauguration  the 
old  crank  dressed  up  in  his  blue  uniform,  and  took 
down  his  army  musket,  and  went  into  the  parlor, 
and  sat  under  the  picture  of  old  John,  and  told 
Martha  to  call  him  "  when  the  boys  march  by  on 
their  way  to  the  front."  And  the  good  wife 
hustled  the  children  off  to  school,  and  told  the 
neighbors  not  to  mind  him,  for  the  old  man  was 
getting  sort  of  childish. 

Not  many  weeks  thereafter  the  summons  came. 

The  old  crank  was  taken  down  with  bronchitis 

true  to  his  principles  he  called  it  brown-chitis 

serious  complications  followed,  and  it  was  evident 
that  the  end  was  near.  It  was  a  glorious  June  day 
in  Kansas,  and  a  June  day  in  Kansas  is  one  of 
the  glories  of  this  fleeting  life.  The  old  crank 
lay  on  the  bed  where  he  had  rested  for  twenty 
years.  His  faithful  wife  sat  by  and  held  his  hand, 
and  the  pious  Methodist  parson  whispered  words 
of  encouragement.  A  light  sparkled  in  the  old 
crank's  eye.  Did  he  catch  that  glimpse  of  the 
celestial  beauties  which  is  said  to  be  granted  to  the 
departing  faithful  ? 


The  Old  Crank.  25 

"Is  everything  bright  aiul  beautiful,  James  ?" 
said  the  good  wife. 

"Tollable,"  replied  the  dying  Christian,  with  a 
faint  suggestion  of  disappointment  in  his  tone, 
"not  as  bright  as  sunny  Kansas,  but  tollable." 

Then  the  old  crank  sat  up  in  bed.  "  I  see  him, 
Marthy,"  he  cried,  "I  see  him.  I'd  know  him 
among  a  million.  It's  old  John,  just  as  we've 
seen  him  in  the  pictur'  in  the  Historical  Society 
rooms  at  Topeky,  with  a  halo  of  glory  around  his 
head  an'  a  lot  o'  little  nigger  children  implorin'  his 
blessin'.  He's  standin'  at  the  pearly  gates,  an' 
seems  to  be  giviir  gen'ral  directions,  sort  o'  passin' 
on  the  papers  of  candidates.  An'  I  see  lots  o'  Kan- 
sans  climbin'  up  the  golden  stairs,  an'  imps  o' 
darkness  dartin'  out  to  worry  an'  molest  'em.  I 
know  'em.  They're  Democrats." 

"Ad  astra  per  aspera,"  said  the  minister, 
solemnly. 

"Amen,"  replied  the  weeping  wife. 

"And  I  think  old  John  knows  me,"  cried  the  old 
crank,  exultingly,  "for  he  has  said  somethin' to 
the  sentry,  an'  now  he  smiles  an'  stretches  out  his 
arms,  an'  the  Democrats  have  fled  away.  Sing  me 
one  o'  the  old  war  songs,  Marthy,  '  Tramp,  tramp, 
tramp.'" 

The  good  wife,  her  voice  broken  by  her  tears, 
hummed  the  familiar  refrain,  and  the  old  crank 
fell  back  upon  the  bed. 


26  The  Old  Crank. 

"Tell  the  boys,"  he  whispered,  "that  I've  seen 
him.  I've  seen  old  John.  '  His  body  lies  a- 
mould'rin'  in  the  grave,  but  his  soul  goes  marchin' 
on/'" 

The  old  crank's  lamp  went  out. 


WHAT  BROKE  UP  THE  LITERARY. 


No  doubt  existed  in  the  minds  of  the  community 
that  Pikeville  had  a  good  deal  to  be  proud  of.  For 
was  it  not  recognized  as  one  of  the  oldest  and  most 
eminently  respectable  town^  in  the  fine  old  com 
monwealth  of  Missouri,  ''enjoying,"  as  the  mayor 
said  in  his  welcoming  address  to  a  visiting  delega 
tion  of  Boston  capitalists,  "all  the  culture  and 
refinement  of  a  long-established  Southern  aristoc 
racy,  quickened  and  vitalized  by  Eastern  immigra 
tion  "?  Pikeville  "pointed  with  pride  "  to  those 
splendid  old  families,  the  Camdens,  the  Crawfords, 
the  Dallases,  the  Lawrences  and  the  Mercers,  who, 
in  turn,  "  viewed  with  alarm  "  the  inroads  of  a 
vulgar  "boom,"  which,  however,  had  left  Pikeville 
the  center  of  a  prosperous  railway  system  and  with 
the  advantages  and  improvements  of  a  modern 
city. 

Yet  if  the  question  had  been  put  point  blank  to 
Pikeville  :  "  On  what  do  you  base  your  hope  of 
greatest  renown  and  well-being  ?"  Pikeville  would 
have  risen  as  one  man  and  replied  :  "  Our  Lit 
erary." 

Now,  this  "literary"  was  not  a  plant  of  rapid 


30  \\liat  Broke   Up  the   Literary. 

and  immature  growth.  It  was  rather  the  result  of 
a  slowly-developed  and  well-matured  decision.  It 
came  along  partly  as  the  sequence  of  the  boom  and 
the  stirring  influence  of  Eastern  immigration,  and 
partly  through  reason  of  the  increased  feminine 
literary  activity  that  was  epidemic  in  the  country 
at  large.  The  immediate  cause  was  the  arrival  of 
Miss  Sophronia  Merrick,  of  Massachusetts,  who 
had  come  to  Missouri  for  scholastic  missionary 
work,  and  had  been  induced  to  establish  a  school 
in  Pikeville,  thereunto  moved  by  the  charm  of  the 
town,  the  excellence  of  the  water  and  the  courtly 
hospitality  of  the  people.  Miss  Merrick  was 
abundantly  qualified  to  lead  in  literary  endeavor, 
as  she  had  taken  a  thorough  collegiate  and  post 
graduate  course  ;  had  been  an  active  member  of  the 
learned  Browning,  Goethe,  Dante  and  Ibsen  socie 
ties  of  Boston,  and  could  show  papers  of  honorary 
membership  in  many  of  the  best  organizations  for 
the  promotion  of  human  thought.  While  not  a 
particularly  engaging  person  from  a  cursory  mas 
culine  point  of  view,  Miss  Sophronia  was  much 
esteemed  for  her  mental  qualifications,  and  as  she 
minded  her  own  business,  and  minded  it  very  well, 
the  generous  old  families  of  Pikeville  soon  came  to 
overlook  her  unhappy  accident  of  birth  in  Massa 
chusetts. 

Miss  Sophronia's  intimate  friend  was  Miss  Alinira 
Putney,  formerly  of  Vermont.     Ezra  Putney  had 


What  Broke   Up  the  Literary.  31 

moved  to  Missouri  a  few  years  before  to  go  into 
the  fancy  stock  business,  and  to  exchange  a  bron 
chial  affection  for  regular  and  well-defined  touches 
of  malaria.  Miss  Almira  did  not  possess  in  the 
full  degree  the  ripened  intellectual  charms  of  Miss 
Sophronia,  but  her  atmosphere  had  always  been 
good,  and  in  sundry  contributions  to  the  local 
paper  she  had  manifested  an  agreeable  acquaint 
ance  with  much  that  is  praiseworthy  in  literature. 
Miss  Almira  had,  moreover,  not  a  little  of  the 
sturdy  independence  of  the  old  stock,  and  in  her 
pursuit  of  knowledge  had  imbibed  much  of  the 
classic  and  modern  thought,  which,  however  con 
formable  to  the  requirements  of  a  person  of 
wide  reading,  is  not  recognized  and  approved  by 
the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  to  which  the 
greater  part  of  Pikeville  owed  its  allegiance. 

The  association,  then,  of  two  such  spirits  as  Miss 
Sophronia  and  Miss  Almira  could  not  fail  to  bring 
about  results  most  felicitous  to  the  general  wel 
fare.  Miss  Sophronia  had  looked  over  the  literary 
condition  of  the  town  and  had  pronounced  the 
trend  favorable.  She  had  even  delivered  a  lecture 
to  the  ladies  on  the  life,  character,  writings  and 
influence  of  Johann  Wolfgang  von  Goethe,  prepar 
atory  to  the  formation  of  a  Goethe  club  ;  but  Miss 
Sophronia's  enthusiasm  for  the  cwig  weiUiclic  and 
for  ponderous  and  complex  Teutonic  philosophy 
Jed  her  into  such  deep  channels  that  the  ladies 


32  WJttff    '/Jrukr    ('/>  I  lie   Literary. 

were  soon  over  their  heads.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Dallas 
confided  to  the  younger  ladies  that  Goethe  was  a 
u  nasty  man,"  and  this  idea  soon  prevailed  to  the 
verge  of  a  panic.  But  the  lecture  was  not  alto 
gether  a  failure,  for  it  stimulated  the  ladies  to  the 
point  of  doing  something.  Several  meetings  were 
held,  and  numerous  plans  discussed.  An  organi 
zation  was  speedily  effected,  officers  were  elected, 
and  a  constitution  and  by-laws  adopted.  Light 
refreshments  were  voted,  and,  all  the  preliminaries 
having  been  settled,  the  club  took  up  the  ques 
tion  of  work. 

In  view  of  the  inroads  made  upon  previous  femi 
nine  literary  progress  in  Pikeville  by  the  seduction 
of  progressive  euchre,  dancing,  parties  and  picnics, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  sterner  and  oft-recurring 
duties  of  revivals  and  protracted  meetings,  Miss 
Sophronia  and  Almira  suggested  the  study  of 
American  literature.  Posie  Mercer,  who  had  just 
returned  from  the  East,  where  she  had  pursued 
special  courses  of  psychology  and  china  painting, 
was  anxious  to  take  up  Tolstoi.  Virgie  Cooper 
declared  a  preference  for  Ibsen,  if  he  could  be 
obtained  in  an  expurgated  and  fumigated  edition. 
Sadie  Boone,  who  was  thought  to  be  engaged  to  a 
young  man  who  traveled  for  a  St.  Louis  hat  house, 
believed  she  could  give  her  days  and  nights  to  the 
study  of  Emerson  alone.  Winnie  Schuyler,  fresh 
from  a  iinisliiiia:  school,  where  thev  called  for  butter 


What  Broke    Up  the  Literary.  33 

in  three  languages,  spoke  for  the  literature  of 
France;  and  Mrs.  Crawford  and  Mrs.  Dallas,  who 
were  sisters,  and  whose  maternal  grandfather  had 
lived  in  Yorkshire,  were  equally  clamorous  for  an 
English  course,  not  to  ante-date  Chaucer,  whose 
spelling  and  grammar  were  notoriously  poor. 

The  dispute  was  settled  by  a  very  interesting 
occurrence.  Joanna  Brown,  whose  family  had  re 
cently  come  to  Pikcville  from  Kansas,  was  convers 
ing  with  Sadie  Booue  and  Daisy  Camden  when  the 
subject  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  came 
up.  Miss  Daisy  chanced  to  remark  casually  that 
the  Declaration  was  promulgated  at  Guttenberg. 
Miss  Sadie  thought  Miss  Daisy  must  be  mistaken. 
Miss  Daisy  was  sure  she  was  not  mistaken,  for  she 
had  heard  her  brother  talking  about  Guttenberg 
the  night  before.  Miss  Sadie  was  willing  to  admit 
that  it  was  something  that  sounded  like  Guttenberg, 
but  she  thought  it  was  Gettysburg.  Miss  Joanna 
was  quite  positive  it  was  not  Gettysburg,  as  her 
father  had  talked  about  Gettysburg  for  the  past 
twenty  years,  and  had  never  mentioned  the  Decla 
ration  of  Independence.  Just  at  this  point  Miss 
Sophronia,  approaching,  was  horrified.  "  If  this  is 
the  extent  of  your  knowledge  of  your  country," 
she  said,  severely,  "I  think  we  may  as  well  drop 
all  other  subjects  and  take  up  American  history." 
The  girls  were  too  abashed  to  remonstrate,  and 


34  WJntt  Broke   Up  the  Literary. 

the  motion  was  put  and  carried  without  an  objecting 
voice. 

The  decision  of  the  class  was  most  cordially 
indorsed  by  the  best  thought  of  the  community. 
The  editor  of  the  Pikevillo  Guard  complimented 
the  ladies  in  an  editorial  of  unusual  felicity  of 
expression,  and  called  them  the  daughters  of  Clio, 
incidentally  remarking  that  no  other  town  in 
Missouri  could  present  such  an  aggregation  of  cult 
ure,  beauty  and  true  womanliness.  To  this  the 
Midland  Banner  retorted  with  cutting  sarcasm, 
which  involved  both  newspapers  in  a  long  and 
acrimonious  discussion,  from  which  Pikcvillc  and 
the  Guard  emerged  with  added  distinction  and 
renewed  pride. 

In  the  meantime  the  class  was  progressing  fa 
mously,  and  so  skillful  was  the  leadership  of  Miss 
Sophronia,  and  so  helpful  the  suggestions  of  her 
experience,  that  tho  young  men  of  the  town  were 
in  a  constant  condition  of  mental  depression  and 
becoming  sense  of  inferiority.  The  essays  were 
not  infrequently  published  in  the  Guard,  and 
although  the  Banner,  by  the  sneaking  and  repre 
hensible  employment  of  parallel  columns,  sought 
to  prove  that  they  wore  copied  literally  from  ency 
clopaedias  and  histories,  the  Guard  repelled  the 
accusation  with  such  denunciatory  vehemence  that 
the  society  voted  the  editor  thereof  a  special  reso 
lution  of  thanks,  and  in  turn  was  honored  by  the 


What  Broke   Up  tlic  Literary.  35 

publication  of  an  original  complimentary  poem, 
containing  many  flowers  of  rhetoric  and  pearls  of 
thought. 

And    so    matters    ran    along   smoothly.      The 
attendance  was  large,  the  ladies  were  enthusiastic, 
the  tea  was  delicious,  and  the  beaten  biscuits  and 
the   macaroons   transcended   criticism.     One   day 
Miss  Almira  Putney  rose  to  read  an  essay  on  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers.     As  was  perfectly   natural  and 
commendable,  Miss  Almira  eulogized  these  gentle 
men,   long  deceased,   spoke  of  their  troubles  and 
persecutions,  of  their  strike  for  freedom  of  religious 
conviction,  of  their  heroism,  their  steadfastness  of 
religious  integrity,  and  of  the  great  impress  they 
left  upon  the  country.     When  Miss  Almira  had 
finished  and  the  matter  was  before  the  society  for 
discussion,,    Miss    Daisy    Camden    observed    that 
while,  of  course,  she  could  not  speak  from  actual 
knowledge,   she  had  always  understood   that  the 
Pilgrims  were  a  common  job-lot  sort  of  people. 
Miss  Almira,   with  rising  color,  desired  to  know 
where  she  had  procured  such  valuable  information. 
Miss  Daisy  promptly  replied  that  she  had  been  so 
informed  by  her  father,   Judge  Camden ;  where 
upon  Miss  Almira  said  "  Oh  !  "  with  a  peculiar  and 
significant  intonation.     Miss  Daisy  requested  the 
privilege  of   informing  Almira   Putney   that   her 
father  belonged  to  the  F.  F.  V.'s,  the  first  fam 
ilies  of  Virginia.     Miss  Putney  blandly  asked  per- 


36  \Yha1   ttrokc   Up  the  Li/cntry. 

mission  to  enlighten  Daisy  Camdcn  ;  that  she  also 
belonged  to  the  F.  F.  V.'s,  the  iirst  families  of 
Vermont.  Miss  Daisy  laughed  a  very  unnatural 
and  unpleasant  laugh,  and  her  dearest  friend,  Miss 
Virgie  Cooper,  tittered.  At  this  point  Miss 
Sophronia  interfered,  and  warned  the  young  ladies 
that  personalities  would  not  be  permitted.  Miss 
Daisy  explained  that  personally  she  had  the  warm 
est  regard  for  Almira,  and  Miss  Almira  admitted 
that  she  was  devoted  to  Daisy.  The  matter  then 
dropped. 

At  the  next  meeting  of  the  society  Miss  Evie 
Dallas  read  a  thoughtful  essay  on  the  depressing 
influence  of  Salem  witchcraft.  Miss  Dallas's 
parents,  as  South  Carolinians,  had  transmitted 
to  Miss  Evie  in  natural  inheritance  a  somewhat 
one-sided  view  of  Puritan  character,  and  the 
young  lady,  in  the  course  of  literary  preparation, 
interpolated  many  spicy  personal  opinions  touch 
ing  the  ignorant  superstition  of  the  Puritans, 
particularly  exemplified  by  Cotton  Mather. 

Miss  Tosie  Adair  was  astonished.  She  could 
not  conceive  how  anybody  could  have  obtained  such 
opinions  of  Doctor  Mather. 

Miss  Evie  replied  that  she  had  consulted  her 
father,  the  junior  member  of  the  firm  of  Camden 
&  Dallas,  and  he  had  told  her  that  Cotton 
Mather  was  a  crack-brained  old  fanatic,  but  that 


What  Broke   Up  the  Literary.  37 

she  had  decided  to  mitigate  this  opinion  as  unlady 
like. 

Miss  Tosie,  with  blazing  eyes,  presumed  that 
Miss  Evie  did  not  know  that  she  was  descended 
from  Doctor  Mather  through  her  mother,,  whose 
maternal  grandmother  belonged  to  the  Mathers  of 
Connecticut. 

Miss  Evie  reddened,  and  said  that  unfortunately 
she  did  not,  but  since  the  matter  had  been  brought 
up  she  felt  compelled  to  stand  by  the  truths  of 
history. 

To  this  Miss  Tosie  replied,  with  a  sneer,  that 
since  "  history  "  was  invoked  she  would  admit  that 
the  good  people  of  Salem  had  been  a  little  hasty  ; 
but  at  least  they  had  acted  conscientiously,  think 
ing  they  were  pleasing  God,  and  not  from  malig- 
nance,  which  had  led  certain  people  in  other  parts 
of  the  country  to  torture  and  kill  poor,  unoffend 
ing  black  men. 

At  this  there  was  a  great  sensation,  and  several 
of  the  ladies  said,  "  Oh  I  Oh  ! "  Miss  Sophronia 
called  Miss  Tosie  to  order  and  gently  rebuked  her. 

Miss  Tosie  apologized  to  the  ladies  of  the  class 
for  anything  that  might  appear  unparliamentary, 
but,  as  for  herself  and  her  family,  they  did  not 
wish  association  with  anybody  who  maligned  their 
ancestors.  The  emphasis  on  "family"  made  Miss 
Evie  redden  more  deeply,  and  caused  the  ladies  to 
turn  awav  their  heads  and  smile,  for  the  preference 


38  What  Broke   Up  the  Literary. 

for  Miss  Tosie's  brother  exhibited  bv  Miss  Evie 
had  been  town  gossip  for  mouths. 

When  the  perplexing  and  demoralizing  sub 
ject  of  the  Puritans  had  been  overcome  by  the 
happy  arrival  of  the  eighteenth  century,  amicable 
relations  were  completely  restored.  Miss  Daisy 
staid  all  night  with  Miss  Almira,  and  Miss  Evie,  in 
that  deft,  winning,  woman's  way,  smoothed  things 
over  with  Miss  Tosie's  brother,  and  declared  that 
a  visit  to  Connecticut  was  the  dream  of  her  lii'e. 
And  so  the  even  current  ran  along  through  the 
French  and  Indian  war,  on  and  past  the  stirring- 
scenes  of  the  Ee volution  and  the  troublous  times 
of  1812.  It  might  be  supposed  that  the  various 
political  distinctions  of  the  United  States  govern 
ment  would  have  troubled  the  ladies.  Kot  a  bit 
of  it.  Each  member  of  the  class  had  her  particu 
lar  essay,  and,  recognizing  the  former  disasters,  the 
audience  always  preserved  a  respectful  demeanor, 
and  asked  no  questions.  It  was  feared  that  Miss 
Virgie  Cooper's  position  on  the  Missouri  Compro 
mise  might  excite  a  little  hostility,  but  as  she 
refrained  from  all  personal  opinions  and  adhered 
closely  to  the  text  of  the  authorities,  the  danger 
was  averted. 

In  fact  the  ladies  were  felicitating  themselves 
that  they  had  now  progressed  beyond  all  possible 
collisions  and  outbreaks,  and  were  sure  of  their 
tempers  and  good  humor.  Moreover,  such  was 


What  Broke   Up  flic  Literary.  39 

Miss  Sophronia's  tact,  and  so  firm  and  adroit  was 
her  administration,  that  every  tendency  toward 
personalities  was  quickly  repressed.  But  it  chanced 
that  Miss  Sophronia  was  invited  to  go  to  'Midland 
to  address  the  young  ladies  of  the  Methodist 
college  on  the  centripetal  quality  of  the  Ego,  and 
in  her  absence  the  duties  of  the  chair  devolved 
upon  the  vice-president,  Miss  Sadie  Boone.  Miss 
Sadie  entered  upon  the  task  with  no  little  trepida 
tion,  for,  while  she  was  very  pretty  and  popular 
withal,  she  knew  as  little  of  parliamentary  usage 
as  the  sacred  cow  knows  about  the  music  of  the 
future. 

Unluckily,  that  day  Miss  Winnie  Schuyler  had 
prepared  an  essay  on  the  missionary  work  of  John 
Brown  in  Kansas.  Miss  Winnie  warmed  to  her 
subject,  and  described  the  fearful  odds  against 
which  this  heroic  man  contended  in  his  glorious 
struggle  for  freedom.  She  followed  him  to  Vir 
ginia,  to  Harper's  Ferry,  and,  after  he  had  been 
executed  with  due  solemnity,  she  invested  him 
with  a  martyr's  crown  and  a  halo  of  surpassing 
brightness. 

In  the  discussion  that  followed  Mrs.  Crawford 
remarked  that  she  supposed  that  everybody  nowa 
days  knew  that  John  Brown  was  a  law-breaker  and 
a  thief,  and  properly  suffered  a  felon's  death. 

Miss  Winnie  replied  that  under  the  terms  of  the 


40  What  Broke   Up  the  Literary. 

Missouri  Compromise  the  extension  of  slavery  had 
been  strictly  prohibited. 

Miss  Daisy  Camden  thought  that  the  extension 
of  slaver.y  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  case  ;  that 
John  Brown  was  an  old  freebooter  who  pillaged 
and  murdered  just  for  the  love  of  excitement. 

Miss  Tosie  Adair  believed  that  Miss  Daisy  was 
unduly  influenced  by  the  thought  that  she  must 
stick  up  for  Virginia. 

Miss  Daisy  emphatically  responded  that  she  was 
not  moved  by  any  such  consideration  ;  that  she 
merely  repeated  an  opinion  which  she  had  heard 
her  father  give.  And  she  presumed  that  the  ladies 
would  admit  that  her  father  was  perfectly  compe 
tent  to  give  an  opinion  worth  respecting. 

Miss  Joanna  Brown  spoke  with  great  agitation 
and  ill-concealed  wrath.  She  gave  the  ladies  to 
understand  that  her  father  had  known  and  fought 
under  Captain  Brown  in  Kansas,  and  that  she  had 
been  named  in  honor  of  that  good  man.  As  a 
babe  she  had  been  held  in  his  arms,  and  she  would 
allow  nobody  to  asperse  his  memory  while  she  had 
a  tongue  to  defend  him. 

Miss  Virgie  Cooper  jocularly  answered  that 
nobody  ever  doubted  that  Joanna  had  a  tongue, 
and  Miss  Evie  Dallas  slyly  remarked  that  as  John 
Brown  had  departed  this  life  thirty  years  ago, 
Joanna's  remembrance  could  not  be  disputed  by 


What  Broke   Up  the  Literary.  41 

the  ladies  present.  This  keen  feminine  thrust 
caused  Miss  Joanna  to  wince  with  pain. 

Miss  Almira  Putney  took  the*  floor.  She 
said  that  in  the  absence  of  Miss  Sophronia 
she  had  endeavored  to  keep  quiet,  but  that 
the  outcropping  of  old  rebel  sentiment  was  be 
coming  offensive  to  an  unbearable  degree.  In 
view  of  the  heated  condition  of  the  ladies,  she 
would  move  an  adjournment,  but  she  gave  no 
tice  that  at  the  next  meeting  she  would  throw 
aside  all  reserve  and  produce  authorities  to  place 
the  onus  of  the  civil  war  on  the  rebels,  where  it 
properly  belonged. 

In  seconding  the  motion  to  adjourn,  Mrs.  Craw 
ford  protested  against  the  use  of  the  word 
"rebels,"  and  promised,  on  her  side,  to  be  present 
with  a  counterblast  of  authorities.  And  so  Miss 
Sadie  Boone,  being  on  the  verge  of  insanity,  or 
at  least  of  tears,  declared  the  meeting  adjourned. 

When  the  news  of  the  rupture  in  the  "  literary  " 
spread  about  town,  as  it  quickly  did,  all  Pikeville 
was  in  a  nutter.  Ten  years  before  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  start  a  discussion  of  this  nature, 
but  immigration  had  wrought  many  changes,  and 
Pikeville  had  even  enjoyed  the  novelty  of  a  Repub 
lican  mayor.  Still  the  old  Southern  element 
strongly  prevailed,  and  in  this  circle  Miss  So- 
phronia  was  heartily  condemned.  "  Of  co'se,"  said 
Judge  Camden,  magnanimously,  "the  repo'ts  that 


42  What  liruke   Vp  tJic  Literar//. 

my  daughter  brings  me  may  be  exaggerated,  but  I 
reckon  the  Yankee  school-teacher  is  a  mischief- 
maker."  This  candid  declaration  from  the  Judge 
was  regarded  as  particularly  significant,  for  his 
attentions  to  Miss  Sophronia  had  been  noted  by  all 
the  ladies  as  presaging  a  change  in  his  domestic 
relations. 

Miss  Sophronia  was  much  distressed  by  the 
unfortunate  turn  of  events,  and  repaired  to  the 
Presbyterian  minister  for  advice.  The  worthy 
man  counseled  her  to  address  the  throne  of  grace, 
but.,  as  she  had  already  done  that  two  or  three  times 
without  visible  results,  she  despaired  of  active 
Providential  interference.  At  last  she  decided  to 
appeal  to  the  ladies  in  open  session,  and  trust  to 
their  good  nature  and  good  sense.  In  the  mean 
time  the  most  awful  condition  of  affairs  prevailed. 
Miss  Tosie  Adair  had  so  ingeniously  poisoned  the 
mind  of  her  brother  that  he  had  broken  an  engage 
ment  to  take  Miss  Evie  Dallas  to  the  mite  sociable, 
whereat  Miss  Evie  had  spent  the  nig-ht  in  tears. 
Miss  Daisy  Camden  cut  Miss  Almira  Putney  dead 
on  the  street,  and  Miss  Almira,  in  return,  told 
Miss  Daisy's  best  young  man  that  she  now  believed 
that  Daisy  was  descended  from  Poeahontas  because 
she  looked  it.  Miss  Posie  Mercer  was  found  to  be 
authority  for  the  story  that  Miss  Winnie  Schuyler  s 
grandfather  was  a  common  shoemaker  in  New 
Hampshire,  and  Miss  Winnie  gave  it  out  that  a 


What  Broke   Vp  the  Literary.  43 

young  man  from  Boston,  who  had  summered  in 
Pikeville,  had  mittened  Miss  Posie  and  gone  home 
in  disgust  because  she  spelled  "  "buggy  "  with  one  g. 
To  add  to  the  general  perturbation  the  Midland 
Banner  came  into  possession  of  .the  facts,  and 
printed  the  most  atrocious  doggerel,  satirizing  the 
ladies,  and  vulgarly  calling  upon  the  young  men  to 
resort  to  arms,  a  specimen  of  low  wit  which  the 
editor  of  the  Guard  promptly  and  crushingly 
rebuked. 

When  Tuesday  afternoon  came  around,  and  the 
society  met  at  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Crawford,  the 
ladies  appeared,  their  arms  loaded  with  books. 
Miss  Sophronia  saw  with  uneasiness  that  the  Con 
federates  were  ranged  on  one  side  of  the  room,  and 
the  Union  cohorts  on  the  other.  She  also  noticed 
a  number  of  little  brothers  on  the  sidewalk,  and 
gathered  from  their  high  juvenile  voices  and 
occasional  cries  of  "Eats  "and  "Come  off,"  that 
preliminary  skirmishing  had  begun.  The  authori 
ties  were  piled  on  the  table  and  sofa.  Here  was 
Kedpath's  Life  of  John  Brown,  and  here  Sheahan's 
Life  of  Douglas.  Here  Horace  Greeley's  Con 
federate  States,  and  Alex.  Stephens^  War  Be 
tween  the  Slates,  and  Jeff  Davis's  Rise  and  Fall 
of  the  Southern  Confederacy,  and  Pollard's  Lost 
Cause,  and  Hill's  War  on  the  Border,  and  Sneed's 
Fight  for  Missouri,  and  Johnston's  Narrative  of 
Military  Operations,  and  liord's  War  Memories, 


44  }\'haf  Broke   Vp  the  Literary. 

and  a  dozen  other  volumes  of  less  note.  And  last 
of  all  came  Miss  Almira  Putney,  panting  and 
blowing,  and  bearing  huge  books  of  the  Records 
of  the  Rebellion,  looking  very  wicked  and  very 
confident. 

Miss  Sophronia  sighed,  and  the  look  of  trouble 
deepened  on  her  countenance.  She  gave  an 
appealing  glance  to  Miss  Almira,  who  had  dropped 
the  Records  on  the  carpet  with  a  defiant  bang,  and 
cleared  her  voice  and  said  : 

"  Ladies,  it  has  been  assigned  to  me  to  prepare  an 
essay  on  the  causes  leading  up  to  the  attack  on 
Fort  Sumter  in  our  late  deplorable  civil  war.  1 
have  not  done  so,  for  reasons  that  will  appeal1  per 
fectly  proper  to  you.  The  war,  ladies,  closed 
twenty-five  years  ago.  I  think  I  may  say,  without 
giving  offense,  that  Miss  Brown  and  myself  are  the 
only  ones  present  who  can  recall  the  slightest 
phase  of  that  terrible  conflict.  You,  my  dear 
Daisy,  were  not  born,  nor  you,  Virgie,  nor  you, 
Sadie,  nor  you,  Winnie,  Tosie  and  Almira,  How 
absurd,  then,  is  it  that  now  in  this  reunited 
country  AVC  should  be  governed  by  the  simulation 
of  passions  that  we  have  never  felt,  to  the  disrup 
tion  of  our  pleasant  intercourse  and  the  disband- 
ment  of  our  society."' 

"Almira  Putney  had  no  right  to  call  us  rebels," 
said  Miss  Posie  Mercer. 

"Excuse  me,  but  I  had  the  right;  and  here" 


What  Broke   Up  ilic  Literary.  45 

(tapping  the  Records  significantly)  "it  is,"  replied 
Miss  Almira. 

"And  here,"  broke  in  Miss  Yirgie  Cooper,  "is 
Mr.  Davis's  testimony  that  you  are  all  wrong." 

"  Bah  !  "  cried  Miss  Winnie  Schuylcr  ;  "  how 
absurd  to  take  the  biggest  traitor  in  the  pack  as  an 
authority  on  loyalty." 

"Winnie  Schuyler,"  said  Miss  Daisy  Camden, 
passionately,    "how   dare   you    call   Mr.   Davis   a 
traitor  ?     Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  Davis  ?  " 
"No,  and  I  never  wanted  to." 
"Well,  I  have,  and  he's  no  traitor,  but  a  real 
nice,   polite  old  gentleman.     I've  got  his  picture, 
and  his  autograph,  too. " 
"  Well,  you  can  keep  them. " 
"  Thank  you,  I  mean  to,  and  pretty  well  hidden 
when  there  is  anybody  from  Connecticut  in  the 
neighborhood." 

"  If  the  ladies  will  remember  that  they  are  ladies, 
and  not  lose  their  tempers,"  said  MissEvie  Dallas, 
with  emphasis,  "I  should  like  to  read  a  chapter 
from  Pollard's  Lost  Cause." 

"  Let's  see  ;  Pollard  was  another  rebel,  wasn't 
he  ?"  queried  Miss  Brown. 

"No,  he  wasn't  a  rebel,"  retorted  Miss  Evie, 
angrily;  "he  sympathized  with  the  Confederate 
government." 

"  With  the  what  kind  of  government  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Brown,  tauntingly.  "  With  the  Confederate 


'1f;  \\lml   llrnkc    I'p  the  Literary. 

government  ?     Wasn't  that  the  government  that 
supported  Quantrell  and  Anderson  ?" 

"At  Jill  events/'  replied  MissEvie,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  "it  didn't  support  Red  Legs,  who  came 
over  from  Kansas  and  murdered  my  uncle  John, 
whom  I  never  saw.'-' 

"  Well,  if  you  never  saw  him,  what  are  you  crying 
for  ?  "  put  in  Miss  Almira.  "  I  don't  believe  he  ever 
wasted  a  thought  on  his  posthumous  relations." 
"  Ladies,  ladies  !  "  said  Miss  Sophronia, 
Miss  Yirgie  Cooper  rose  with  great  and  impress 
ive  dignity.  "I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  am 
descended  from  rebels,  or  whatever  you  choose  to 
call  them,  Almira  Putney.  My  grandmother 
hung  a  Confederate  flag  out  of  her  window  in  the 
full  sight  of  the  Yankee  troops,  and  my  father 
chased  a  Yankee  ten  miles  into  the  next  county. 
I  am  not  chasing  Yankees  myself,  but  I  am  not 
bound  to  associate  with  them.  Come,  Daisy." 

Miss  Tosie  Ad  air  took  the  iloor.  "  I  am  going 
myself,"  she  said,  "and  Winnie  is  going  with  me. 
I  have  often  heard  about  plantation  manners,  and 
have  been  anxious  for  an  exhibition.  My  curiosity 
is  satisfied." 

"In  handing  in  my  resignation,"  spoke  up  Miss 
Evie  Dallas,  "I  wish  to  say  that  I  am  perfectly 
shocked  by  the  display  of  brutality  on  the  part  of 
Northern  women.  I  am  glad  that  my  experience 
begins  and  ends  here." 


What  Broke   Up  flic   Literary.  47 

"So  am  I,"  snapped  Miss  Almira  Putney.  Miss 
Almiru  had  a  peppery  tongue. 

One  by  one  the  ladies  picked  up  their  books, 
put  on  their  gloves,  bowed  stiffly  to  the  president 
and  the  hostess,  and  left  the  room.  And  then 
Miss  Sophronia,  the  erudite,  the  profound,  the 
honorary  member  of  the  great  Browning,  Goethe, 
Dante  and  Ibsen  societies  of  the  country,  the  cor 
responding  secretary  of  the  Emersonian  Daughters 
of  the  Southwest,  the  founder  of  the  Missouri 
branch  of  the  Society  for  the  Centripetency  of  the 
Ego,  walked  over  to  Mrs.  Crawford,  put  her  head 
on  her  shoulder,  and  wept. 

The  most  disastrous  results  followed  the  dis- 
bandment  of  the  society.  Although  the  Guard, 
ever  alert  to  the  interests  of  Pikeville,  carefully 
excluded  all  reports  of  the  calamity  from  its 
columns,  the  local  feeling,  was  intense,  and  showed 
itself  in  the  high  social  circles.  The  young  man 
who  traveled  for  a  St.  Louis  hat  house  was  invited 
by  Miss  Sadie  Boone  to  thrash  Miss  Joanna 
Brown's  brother.  Having  performed  this  valorous 
feat,  he  boasted  of  it  in  a  billiard  room,  and  was  in 
turn  soundly  trounced  by  young  Mr.  Adair. 
Hearing  of  the  disgraceful  proceeding,  Deacon 
Dallas  sent  word  to  young  Mr.  Adair  that  as  he 
frequented  billiard  halls  he  should  come  to  his 
house  "no  moV  This  sentence  of  proscription 
sent  Miss  Evie  to  her  bed  for  three  days.  Judge 


48  What  Broke   Up  the  Literary. 

Camclen  and  ex-Mayor  Schuyler  came  to  blows  in 
front  of  the  Methodist  church,  and  the  Coopers 
and  the  Putiicys,  who  had  occupied  adjoining 
pews  for  five  years,  declined  to  mingle  as  of  yore  in 
the  consolations  of  religion. 

So  things  ran  on  from  bad  to  worse  for  three 
months.  One  evening  Judge  Oamden,  whose  fifty 
years  sat  lightly  on  him,  and  who  was  esteemed 
the  likeliest  widower  in  the  country  round  about, 
was  walking  jauntily  to  the  post-office  when  he 
encountered  Miss  Sophronia. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Sophronya,"  said  the 
Judge,  gallantly  ;  "a  charming  evening." 

Miss  Sophronia  blushed  a  little,  as  an  elderly 
maiden  should,  and  admitted  that  the  evening  was 
indeed  unexceptionable. 

"Miss  Sophronya,"  went  on  the  jurist,  "doyo' 
know,  madam,  that  I  feel  that  in  some  way  yo'  and 
I  are  responsible  for  the  present  strained  relations 
in  this  community  ?" 

The  lady  was  more  agitated  than  ever.  The 
Judge  was  a  personable  gentleman,  and  in  every 
way  qualified  to  impress  a  maidenly  heart  not  too 
young.  Moreover,  she  had  been  warned  to  look 
out  for  the  Judge. 

"  Feeling,  as  I  said  befo',  that  we  are  responsible 
for  this  state  of  affairs,  what  do  yo?  say,  madam, 
to  a  sacrifice  on  yo'  part  to  reconcile  the  North  and 
the  South  ?  Will  yo'  accept  me,  madam,  as  a 


What  Broke   Up  the  Literary.  49 

hostage  ?  Shall  it  be  Virginia  and  Massachusetts, 
now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable  ?  " 

Miss  Sophronia  was  overcome.  She  did  the 
best  thing  possible  under  the  circumstances,  sat 
down  on  a  convenient  gate  step  and  gasped  out: 
"  Why,  Judge  !  " 

When  it  became  known  that  Judge  Camden  and 
Miss  Sophronia  were  engaged,  all  Pikeville  weaved 
and  tottered.  Miss  Daisy  flew  out  to  the  Putneys, 
fell  on  Miss  Almira's  neck  and  wept  tears  of  sor 
row  and  joy,  and  forgiveness,  and  remorse.  Dea 
con  Dallas  cordially  invited  young  Mr.  Adair  to 
supper,  and  Miss  Evie  was  at  her  best.  The  Put 
neys  and  the  Coopers  occupied  the  same  pew  at 
prayer-meeting,  and  the  representative  of  the  hat 
firm  presented  to  Mr.  Brown  one  of  his  very  best 
samples  as  a  token  of  perfect  reconciliation. 

"This  country,"  said  the  Judge,  "is  all  right. 
What  it  needs  is  one  or  two  statesmen  to  keep 
things  smooth  and  level,  and  by  mutual  conces 
sions  to  hold  the  ship  of  state  to  its  co'se." 

But  when  the  Judge  stood  up  in  the  crowded 
church,  and  saw  the  smiling  faces  of  his  old  rebel 
and  Yankee  friends,  and  heard  the  parson's  solemn 
question  :  "Do  you  take  this  woman  to  be  your 
wedded  wife  ?  "  he  answered  : 

"  I  do,"  -—  and  with  a  droll  emphasis  that  set  the 
^congregation  tittering, —  "but no  mo'  literaries," 


Placed  with  'Thomas. 


HE  PLAYED  WITH  THOMAS. 


THE  boys  had  gathered  in  John  Kingman's 
grocery.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  grocery,  but,  for 
that  matter,  Elk  Grove  wasn't  much  of  a  town ;  so 
accounts  balanced.  Why  Elk  Grove  was  called 
Elk  Grove  is  a  question  as  hard  to  answer  as  the 
fair  Juliet's  impatient  query,  "Wherefore  art  thou 
Romeo  ?"  Some  people  ask  foolish  questions  with 
no  expectation  of  a  satisfactory  answer.  The  few 
houses  that  composed  the  town  were  dumped  out 
on  a  wide  and  cheerless  prairie  in  Western  Kansas, 
and,  while  it  is  possible  that  in  bygone  ages  an 
elk  may  have  passed  along  on  his  way  to  a  more 
congenial  stamping-ground,  there  never  was  any 
scientific  reason  for  supposing  that  a  grove  could 
by  any  chance  have  been  a  feature  of  the  place. 
One  argument  was  that  the  town  originally  was 
Elk  Grave,  so  called  from  the  discovery  of  bones 
supposed  to  belong  to  the  cervine  family,  and  that 
when  the  Santa  Ee  road  put  up  a  little  station  and 
made  out  a  new  time-table  a  typographical  error 
changed  the  Grave  to  Grove,  an  indignity  which 
the  haughty  and  autocratic  magnates  refused  to 
rectify.  This  explanation  may  be  taken  for  what 

53 


54  He  Played  with  Thomas. 

it  is  worth,,  but  it  is  cited  merely  to  show  how  the 
railroad  power  in  Kansas  has  ridden  arbitrarily 
over  the  intentions  and  desires  of  the  people. 

Evidently  the  road  favored  not  only  offering  a 
slight,  but  rubbing  it  in  as  well,  for  it  persisted 
in  treating  Elk  Grove  as  a  whistling-station,  and 
trains  seldom  stopped  save  to  put  off  a  tramp  or 
repair  the  engine.  Indeed,  it  began  to  be  whispered 
about  that  the  conductors  saved  up  their  tramps 
for  Elk  Grove,  and  it  was  noticed  that  when  the 
engineer  pulled  out  he  wore  a  grin  hideous  in  its 
malignant  cunning.  Several  indignation  meet 
ings  were  called,  and  it  was  resolved  to  carry  the 
matter  to  Topeka,  but  the  subsequent  reflection 
that  the  railroad  owned  the  legislature  and  the 
entire  machinery  from  Governor  down  to  janitor 
put  an  end  to  that  scheme.  So  the 'boys  soothed 
their  feelings  by  rallying  at  John  Kingman's  gro 
cery  and  drinking  success  to  prohibition  and  con 
fusion  to  tramps  and  railroad  conductors. 

On  the  night  sacred  to  the  incidents  of  this  tale 
the  rally  was  a  little  larger  than  usual.  The 
Hanks  boys  were  there,  and  the  Blilers ;  Bill 
Cook  and  his  cousin  Tom ;  Sam  Chesney,  the 
toughest  man  in  the  district;  Joe  Ardway,  with 
a  record  of  three  men ;  Captain  Matthews,  the 
marshal,  and  two  cowboys,  visiting  the  town  and 
always  agreeable  to  anything  that  promised  exer 
cise  and  relaxation.  John  Kingman  was  in  good 


He  Played  with  Thomas.  55 

spirits,  and  as  he  shoved  the  dried  apples  behind 
the  counter  and  put  a  few  more  boards  on  the 
cracker  boxes,  lie  intimated  that  the  liquor  was 
accessible. 

As  might  have  been  expected  from  so  sprightly 
and  jovial  an  assemblage,  the  conversation  turned 
humorously  on  the  attitude  of  the  railroad  toward 
Elk  Grove^  and  the  still  more  perplexing  attitude 
of  the  town  toward  tramps.  Joe  Ardway  contended 
that  Captain  Matthews,  as  town  marshal,  was 
derelict  in  his  duty  in  failing  to  take  extreme 
measures  against  the  output  of  through  travel. 
The  marshal  replied  that  his  duties  were  circum 
scribed;  that  he  regretted  to  say  that  tramps  as  a 
rule  had  been  perfectly  peaceable,  and  that  he 
would  not  be  justified  under  the  statutes  and  his 
oath  of  office  in  shooting  a  man  whose  only  offense 
was  breathing. 

To  this  position  one  of  the  visiting  cow  gentle 
men,  in  a  perfectly  calm  and  dignified  tone,  took 
exception.  He  pointed  out  that  a  tramp  without 
home  and  money  was  necessarily  a  wretched  being, 
whom  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  put  out  of  his 
misery.  He  believed  it  was  the  duty  of  mankind 
to  alleviate  pain  and  suffering,  and  he  knew  of  no 
medicine  so  quick  and  sure  -in  action  as  a  bullet 
administered  with  a  steady  hand  and  an  unerring 


eve. 


This  opinion  excited  a  general  discussion.     It 


56  lie  Played  with   Thomas. 

was  cordially  indorsed  by  Sam  Chesney  and  the 
Blilers,  and  gently  criticised  by  Bill  Cook.  Mr. 
Cook  believed  that  it  was  the  sense  of  the  com 
munity  to  breathe  a  spirit  of  toleration,  lie 
admitted  that  tramps  were  no  good,  and  deserved  a 
little  touching  up,  but  he  couldn't  countenance 
anything  worse  for  a  first  offense  than  hanging  — 
not  hanging  to  death,  of  course,  but  just  long 
enough  to  give  a  good  choking  and  a  scare.  And 
he  quoted  from  the  beatitudes:  "Blessed  are  the 
merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy."  For  Mr. 
Cook  was  quite  a  scholar,  in  his  way,  and,  rumor 
said,  had  taught  in  Sunday-school  back  east. 

The  calm  judicial  manner  and  scriptural  quota 
tion  were  not  without  a  quieting  effect  on  the 
audience,  already  slightly  inflamed  by  the  potency 
of  Mr.  Kingman's  hospitality,  and  the  convention 
had  settled  down  to  the  discussion  of  the  minor 
penalties  of  mob  law,  when  three  sharp  whistles 
signaled  the  approach  of  the  night  express  from 
the  west.  Bill  Cook  shrugged  his  shoulders,  the 
Bliler  boys  laughed,  and  Joe  Ardway  looked  signifi 
cantly  at  Captain  Matthews  and  grunted  : 
"  Tramps  !  " 

Mr.  Kingman  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  He 
lighted  the  lantern  and  passed  it  to  the  marshal, 
who  took  it  and  walked  out  without  a  word,  the 
boys  falling  in  in  single  file.  AVhen  fifty  yards 
from  the  station,  they  saw  the  conductor  on  the 


Ho  Played  with  Thomas.  57 

platform  raise  his  foot,  give  it  a  careless,  easy 
swing,  and  a  dark  object  shot  from  the  train  and 
rolled  over  into  the  ditch.  Somebody  called  out, 
"  Go  ahead  ; "  a  sardonic  laugh  floated  back  from 
the  cab  ;  the  bell  rang,  and  the  express  puffed  off  to 
the  east. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  the  marshal  flashed  his 
lantern  vigorously  before  the  dark  object  was  seen 
wiggling  up  the  sides  of  the  ditch  like  a  copper 
head  in  a  cactus.  "  I've  got  him,"  said  Sam  Ches- 
ney.  "  Come  up  to  the  hotel,  young  feller,  and 
join  in  the  festivities  you've  interrupted." 

So  back  to  the  grocery  the  party  went,  the 
shivering  tramp  surrounded  by  his  captors,  who 
regaled  him  with  fragmentary  discourse  touching 
the  last  public  execution  in  Elk  Grove.  And 
when  Kingman  had  lighted  another  lamp  in  honor 
of  the  occasion,  they  shoved  him  into  the  middle 
of  the  room  for  general  examination. 

He  was  not  a  young  fellow  after  all,  but  a  middle- 
aged  man,  the  picture  of  woe  and  degradation. 
lie  was  emaciated,  ragged  and  dirty  beyond  the 
usual  limitations  of  the  tramp.  His  clothes  were 
marvelous  in  their  infinite  variety.  Hunger  and 
disease  showed  in  his  sunken  eyes  and  cheeks,  and 
he  tenderly  passed  a  trembling  hand  over  the  con 
tusions  produced  by  his  fall  and  the  conductor's 
boot. 

"  Well,"  said  Joe  Ardway,  "  what  do  you  want  ?  " 


58  Ho  Played  with  Thomas. 

"  It  occurs  to  me,  gentlemen,"  replied  the  tramp, 
"that  it  is  not  what  I  want,  but  what  you  want. 
However,  since  you  are  so  kind  as  to  put  it  that 
way,  I  will  say,  without  delay,  that  I  would  like  a 
drink." 

The  boys  were  immediately  impressed  with  the 
reasonableness  and  good  sense  of  this  request,  and 
Kingman  poured  out  a  grown  man's  supply,  which 
the  tramp  seized  eagerly  and  gulped  down  to  the 
last  drop. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Ardway,  winking  at  the  boys, 
"  p Yaps  you  don't  know  that  there  is  a  law  ag'in 
tramps  in  this  town  ?  " 

The  tramp  smiled  in  a  sickly  manner  that  might 
have  been  a  confession  either  of  ignorance  or 
indifference. 

"Well,  there  is,  a  very  good  and  just  law.  It 
passed  this  house  ten  minutes  before  your  train 
got  in,  and  it  means  death." 

Still  the  tramp  sat  silent  and  unmoved.  After 
a  moment  he  spoke,  with  a  sort  of  weary  despond 
ency  of  tone  : 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  would  make  any  difference 
to  me  or  anybody  else  how  soon  death  comes  to  me. 
I  haven't  long  to  live  at  the  most,  and  a  few  days 
more  or  less  don't  matter." 

Mr.  Ardway  gave  the  boys  another  wink.  "I'm 
glad  to  see  you  resigned,  and  we'll  make  it  as  easy 
for  you  as  we  ran.  There  ain't  no  particular  hurry, 


He  Played  with  Thomas.  50 

and  if  there's  anythhr  you'd  like  to  say  or  do  spe 
cial  before  we  begin,  you  can  go  ahead." 

The  tramp  looked  listlessly  about  him.  On  the 
shelf  behind  the  counter,  just  over  George  Biiler's 
head,  was  a  violin.  It  belonged  to  Kingmairs 
oldest  boy,  who  played  for  his  father's  customers 
whenever  they  were  musically  inclined.  A  flash 
of  joy  came  into  the  tramp's  eyes,  and  he  said,  in 
a  tone  that  was  almost  tender  : 

"I  see  a  violin  up  there.  It  has  been  many 
months  since  I  have  held  one  in  my  hands.  I 
think  I  should  like  to  play  again  to-night." 

"  Oh,  come  off,"  said  Mr.  Chesney  ;  "  this  ain't  no 
musical  conservatory." 

"  That's  all  right,  Sam,"  interposed  Mr.  Ardway ; 
"  if  he  wants  to  give  a  concert  it  ain't  gentlemanly  to 
object."  Then  to  the  tramp:  "We  didn't  know 
when  we  saw  you  get  tin'  oft'  at  our  humble  depot 
that  you  was  a  concert  artist." 

"I  played  the  violin  for  many  years,"  said  the 
tramp,  "when  I  was  with  Thomas." 

"  Oh,  see  here,  what  are  you  givin'  us  ?  There 
wasn't  no  violin-playing  in  the  army,  and  you 
don't  look  as  if  you'd  ever  had  spunk  enough  to 
fight  a  rabbit." 

The  boys  looked  at  Tom  Hanks  approvingly. 
Tom  had  a  war  record,  and  knew  every  division 
and  brigade  commander  by  name  and  history. 

"I  didn't  say  I  ever  was  in  the  army,"  said  the 


60  He  Played  with  Thomas. 

tramp,  humbly.  "I  meant  that  I  played  with 
Thomas,  the  orchestra  leader,  you  know." 

"Oh,  that's  different,"  grunted  Mr.  Hanks,  and 
he  looked  at  the  boys  as  if  to  intimate  that  he 
was  on  personal  terms  with  the  Thomases  of  all 
creation. 

"  I  was  a  happy  fellow  in  those  days,  gentlemen," 
went  011  the  tramp,  almost  caressing  the  fiddle  that 
George  handed  to  him.  "It  was  back  in  New 
York,  and  I  was  young  and  ambitious.  Perhaps 
you  don't  care  for  music.  At  all  events,  you've 
probably  never  played  in  a  great  orchestra  with 
your  blood  tingling  and  a  crash  of  harmony  all 
around  you." 

"I'm  sorry  to  say,"  put  in  Mr.  Ardway,  dryly, 
"as  how  most  of  us  gave  up  our  music  when  we 
were  young,  although  we  are  reckoned  right  lively 
connysuers. " 

"  It  was  glorious,"  said  the  tramp,  without  seem 
ing  to  notice  the  apology.  "  Here  stood  Thomas, 
waving  the  baton,  and  here  I  sat  at  his  left,  in  the 
first  row  of  the  violins.  Down  below  me,  and 
stretching  back  and  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  is 
the  brilliant  audience,  with  eyes  fastened  on  us, 
and  not  a  rustle  to  disturb  the  music.  We  open 
with  the  overture  to  Rienzi." 

The  tramp  had  been  tuning  the  instrument  as 
lie  talked.  Then  he  squared  bark  and  fiddled 


Ho  Played  with  Tlwm.as.  61 

away  with  such  rapidity  and  vehemence  that  the 
boys  looked  on  astonished. 

"Your  tekneek  seems  to  be  all  right/'  said  Bill 
Cook,  who  had  acquired  a  musical  education  at 
concerts  in  Dodge  City,  "  but  I  ain't  much  stuck 
on  that  tune." 

The  criticism  appeared  to  bring  the  tramp  back 
to  a  realization  of  his  position.  He  laid  down  the 
fiddle  and  sighed.  "  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but 
when  the  fit  strikes  me  I  feel  like  playing  a  whole 
programme.  But  what's  the  use  ?  If  you  don't 
have  the  brass  and  the  reeds  and  the  great  volume 
behind  you,  how  can  you  convey  the  grand  inspira 
tion  of  Wagner  ?  " 

"Sure,"  said  Mr.  Cook,  who  felt  that  his  reputa 
tion  demanded  that  he  should  say  something. 

"This  may  be  very  choice,"  broke  in  Mr.  Ches- 
ney,  impatiently,  "but  if  you  had  such  a  soft  snap 
why  didn't  you  freeze  to  it  ?  " 

"That's  just  it,"  bitterly  replied  the  tramp. 
"  What  did  it  ?  Why,  whisky,  of  course.  I  don't 
preach  any  temperance  sermon,  but  whisky  cost 
me  my  place  and  reputation,  set  me  adrift,  brought 
me  West,  subjected  me  to  hunger  and  cold  and 
exposure,  and  brought  on  the  disease  that's  about 
finished  me.  I  was  trying  to  get  back  home  when 
the  brakeman  caught  me.  It  was  a  chance  any 
body  might  take.  The  longing  to  go  home  was 
too  strong  to  resist,  and  I  thought  if  I  could  reach 


62  He  Played  with   Thomas. 

Topeka  I  might  find  friends  to  help  me.  But 
perhaps  it  doesn't  make  any  difference,  for  I  can't 
last  long,  anyway." 

If  anybody  had  looked  in  Mr.  Cook's  face  he 
would  have  seen  a  sort  of  twitching  around  the 
corners  of  Mr.  Cook's  mouth  and  a  pitying  expres 
sion  in  Mr.  Cook's  eyes.  Mr.  Ardway,  too,  had  a 
much  gentler  tone  when  he  said : 

"It's  the  opinion  of  this  meeting  that  your 
tunes  are  out  of  date.  You  ain't  up  to  the  times, 
and  you  ain't  no  credit  to  Kansas.  It  wouldn't  be 
right  to  send  you  back  without  some  signs  of 
progress.  Can't  you  play  the  Washerwoman's 
Dance  or  a  heel  and  toe,  or  something  with  music 
in  it  ?  " 

The  tramp  struck  up  a  lively  air,  and  the  boys 
grinned  and  kept  time  with  their  feet  on  King- 
man's  barrels.  Then  the  music  came  slower  and 
slower,  and  the  boot  accompaniments  stopped. 
The  tramp's  eyes  were  closed,,  and  his  mind  had 
wandered  again.  It  was  a  simple  melody  he 
played,  but  it  touched  the  boys,  and  no  city 
audience  could  have  listened  with  more  profound 
attention  to  the  orchestra  of  which  the  tramp  had 
been  a  part.  Twice  lie  played  it  with  increasing 
fervor,  and  then  he  changed  the  theme  and 
played,  one  after  another,  the  airs  that  are  popular 
in  all  sections  of  the  country,  and  that,  somehow, 
are  alwavs  associated  with  home  and  childhood 


Ho  Played  with   Thomas.  63 

and  better  days.  And  old  John  Kingman  listened 
in  amazement.  He  could  not  believe  that  the 
beautiful  tones  he  heard  came  from  his  boy's  old 
fiddle.  Still  the  tramp  played  on,  until  Captain 
Matthews,  who  sat  near  him,  swore  that  he  saw 
two  tears  come  from  his  closed  eyes  and  roll  down 
his  cheeks. 

Sam  Chesney  drew  a  long  breath.  "  That's  the 
sort,"  said  Mr.  Chesney.  Mr.  Ardway  held  a  hur 
ried  consultation  with  the  Blilers  and  the  Hanks 
boys  and  Bill  Cook.  Then  he  said,  with  great 
gravity : 

"Stranger,  it's  the  vote  of  this  meeting  that 
you've  had  a  run  of  uncommon  hard  luck,  and 
been  imposed  on  by  circumstances.  If  a  man 
wants  to  go  home  and  die/there  ain't  no  kick  com 
ing  to  Elk  Grove.  So  we've  decided  to  make  a 
pool  and  buy  a  ticket  to  Topeka,  and  start  you  off 
in  style.  Kingman's  got  a  store-room  back  here, 
where  there  ain't  nothing  portable,  and  you  can 
get  a  shakedown  to-night  and  a  square  meal  in  the 
morning.  You'll  be  expected  to  turn  up  after 
breakfast  and  fiddle  us  a  few  of  them  good  old 
tunes,  and  we'll  have  the  ladies  down  to  hear  you. 
Then  we'll  fix  you  out  and  flag  the  train  and  start 
you  off." 

If  there  was  any  doubt  about  the  tears  in  the 
tramp's  eyes  when  Cap.  Matthews  watched  him, 
there  was  none  now.  "  Believe  me,  gentlemen," 


04  He  Flayed  with   Thomas. 

lie  said,  "  I  am  not  entirely  unworthy  of  your  kind- 
ness,  even  if  I  never  repay  you.  I  wasn't  always 
what  I  am  now,  and  what  I  am  you  can  see  I  shall 
not  be  very  long." 

Mr.  Chesney  escorted  the  tramp  to  his  lodging 
in  the  rear  of  the  grocery,  and  Mr.  Kingman  and 
Mr.  Ardway  brought  in  a  quilt  and  a  pile  of  empty 
sacks,  with  an  old  army  coat  for  a  pillow.  After 
the  others  had  gone  out  Mr.  Chesney  lingered. 

"I  say,  stranger,"  he  said  ;  "what was  that  tune 
you  played  just  after  the  jig  ?  " 

The  tramp  pondered  a  moment.  His  face 
brightened.  "That  was  the  Ave  Maria." 

"  What's  the  Avvy  Mareea  ?  "  asked  the  puzzled 
Mr.  Chesney. 

"The  Ave  Maria,"  replied  the  tramp,  "is  a 
prayer  to  the  Mother.  I  played  it  a  hundred 
times  when  I  was  with  Thomas." 

Mr.  Chesney  helped  old  John  lock  up  that 
night.  Then  the  two  men  took  the  lantern  and 
went  around  and  looked  in  at  the  window.  The 
tramp  was  lying  on  the  quilts,  and  a  peaceful  look 
was  on  his  thin  face.  Once  he  stirred  and  smiled 
in  his  sleep.  "He  thinks  he's  playing  the  Avvy 
Mareea,"  said  Mr.  Chesney. 

And  they  tiptoed  away,  lest  their  presence 
might  alarm  the  Mother, 


of   Ransas. 


TUBES   OF    KANSAS. 


EVERYBODY  knew  Tubbs.  Along  the  line  of 
the  Santa  Fe,  from  the  old  historic  city  of  Law 
rence,  with  its  prim  Puritan  air,  and  its  college 
atmosphere,  far  beyond  Dodge  City,  where  the 
playful  cowboy  " rounds  up  the  tenderfoot,"  and 
disturbs  the  night  with  the  joyous  crack  of  the 
revolver,  his  name  was  a  household  word,  and  his 
deeds  were  a  family  lesson. 

Tubbs  was  not  a  founder.  He  came  from  a  long- 
line  of  distinguished  Tubbses,  every  one  of  them  a 
Republican  and  every  one  a  Methodist,  "for  which 
God  in  Ilis  infinite  wisdom  and  mercy  be  praised," 
said  Tubbs,  with  great  unction. 

More  than  thirty  years  ago  Tubbs  went  to  the 
first  political  convention  at  Topeka,  and  never 
thereafter  missed  a  rally  of  the  cohorts.  "  Forty 
years  a  voter,  and,  thank  God,  never  a  vote  for  a 
Democrat,"  said  Tubbs.  And  a  heavenly  smile 
lighted  up  his  face,  and  a  sweet  expression  of  rest 
gave  evidence  of  the  tranquil  spirit  within.  The 
quality  of  Tubbs's  Republicanism  was  not  strained. 
At  each  succeeding  political  contest  the  old  man 
67 


08  Tubh*  of  Kansas. 

enunciated  his  principles  :    "  I'm  for  the  nominee 
an'  ag'in  the  Democratic  party." 

"  What  do  you  think  about  tariff  reform  ? " 
anxiously  asked  a  doubting  neighbor. 

"Is  it  in  the  platform  ?"  queried  Tubbs. 

"No." 

"  Then  I'm  ag'in  it.  When  you've  lived  in  Kan 
sas  as  long  as  I  have,  young  man,  and  voted  the 
straight  Republican  ticket  as  many  years,  you'll 
stand  by  the  platform  just  as  we  used  to  stand  by 
free  soil  in  the  dark  days." 

AVhereat  the  party  leaders  would  smile  and  say  : 
"  Yfis,  we  can  bank  on  Tubbs. " 

Tubbs  lived  in  one  of  the  outlying  counties,  a 
man  of  property  and  influence.  He  raised  stock 
enough  for  his  own  uses,  and  his  vast  acres  of  corn 
and  wheat  smiled  in  every  direction.  By  way  of 
innocuous  diversion  he  looked  after  the  spiritual 
welfare  of  his  neighbors  at  the  periodic  Methodist 
awakenings.  And  he  read,  as  he  had  read  for 
years,  straight  Republican  literature,  and  was  not 
quite  positive  in  his  own  mind  that  the  war  was 
over,  and  that  the  rebels  had  been  reduced  to  a 
proper  state  of  subjection. 

For  social  gayeties,  in  the  general  sense  of  the 
word,  Tubbs  cared  little  or  nothing.  "Dancing 
and  such  like  frivolities,"  he  was  wont  to  say,  "are 
ag'in  the  perfect  letter  of  the  law,  and  contrary  to 
the  teaching  of  the  spirit."  But  Tubbs  had 


Tubb*  of  Kansas.  60 

married  a  woman  who  knew  a  thing  or  two  about 
domestic  discipline  and  was  not  disinclined  to 
resent  too  close  application  of  the  doctrine  of  per 
fect  holiness  when  it  interfered  with  her  worldly 
ambitions.  For,  although  the  country  was  new 
and  society  was  in  its  formative  stage,  she  already 
had  aspirations  to  be  recognized  as  the  society 
leader  of  the  county.  So,  when  the  new  house 
was  built,  and  the  furniture  had  come  from  the 
city,  she  determined  to  give  a  ball  that  should 
settle  the  local  leadership  then  and  there.  That 
ball  is  still  the  talk  of  the  country  roundabout,  for 
Mrs.  Tubbs,  with  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  crisis, 
"laid  herself  out,"  as  the  local  papers  had  it,  and 
"accomplished  a  triumph  worthy  the  best  efforts 
of  Lucullus."  But  at  nine  o'clock,  as  the  festivi 
ties  were  beginning  to  alarm  the  wondering  live 
stock,  the  mysterious  absence  of  Tubbs  was  noted 
and  whispered  about.  Search  was  instituted,  and 
lantern  parties  organized,  and  the  old  man  wTas  at 
last  discovered  in  the  barn,  fast  asleep  in  the  hay 
mow.  For,  as  he  subsequently  explained,  "a 
working  man  has  no  business  turning  night  into 
day,  and  cavorting  about  on  pleasure  after  nine 
o'clock."  This  mark  of  disapproval  did  in  no  way 
interfere  with  the  pleasure  of  the  merrymakers, 
but  it  vastly  increased  Tubbs's  standing  and  power 
in  the  councils  of  the  church. 

One  day  the  arch-tempter,  who  had  been  hang- 


70  Tubb*  of  Kansas. 

ing  around  for  years  trying  to  get  a  good  whack  at 
Tubbs,  came  to  him  in  the  form  of  a  neighbor,  a 
late  arrival,  of  Mugwumpish  tendencies,  and  a 
Baptist,  two  reasons  why  Tubbs  regarded  him  with 
suspicion  and  distrust.  "You're  all  off  on  this 
tariff  question,  Tubbs,"  said  the  evil  one.  Tuhbs 
smiled  a  little  haughtily,  but  with  certain  Christ 
ian  toleration,  as  prescribed  by  Wesleyan  discipline. 

"  Of  course,"  went  on  this  wily  tempter,  "  I  don't 
mean  to  argue  the  matter  with  you,  because  I  can't 
cope  with  you  in  argument,  but  if  you  don't  mind, 
I'll  just  leave  these  papers  and  pamphlets  with  yon 
and  let  you  skin  'em  over  for  yourself." 

"If  them  are  Democratic  papers,"  said  Tubbs, 
suspiciously,  "you  can  take  ''em  along.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  have  the  folks  on  this  farm  pizened  by 
that  kind  of  truck." 

But  later  in  the  day  Tubbs  picked  them  up,  "  jest 
to  see,"  he  said,  apologetically,  to  himself,  "what 
the  blamed  fools  have  to  say,  anyhow."  And  from 
glancing  he  fell  to  reading,  arid  from  reading  lie 
went  to  thinking,  and  the  result  was  that  he  sought 
his  bed  that  night  in  great  anguish  of  spirit. 

From  that  fateful  hour  Tubbs  felt  that  he  was  a 
changed  man.  And  none  was  quicker  to  see  it 
than  the  wily  neighbor,  who  never  talked  politics, 
but  who  pursued  his  advantage  by  dexterously 
throwing  tariff  reform  documents  in  Tubbs's  way, 
and  scattering  Democratic  and  Mugwump  papers 


Tnbbs  of  Kansas.  71 

over  the  farm  where  Tubbs  could  run  across  them 
without  compromising  his  standing  as  an  old 
John  Brown.  Republican.  And  Tubbs  read  and 
thought,  and  read  again,  and  his  perplexity  in 
creased,  and  the  dark  shadow  rested  on  his  soul. 

"It  ain't  right,  Tilly,"  he  said  to  his  wife. 
"It's  speshis,  but  it  troubles  me.  It  ain't  good 
Methodist  doctrine  for  Kansas,  and  it's  ag'in  all 
the  glorious  and  blessed  results  of  the  war,  but, 
dang  me,  if  it  doesn't  seem  like  common  sense." 

"All  this  comes  of  trying  to  think  for  yourself," 
answered  the  wife,  severely.  "A  man  who  helped 
put  down  the  rebellion  and  gave  one  hundred 
dollars  to  build  the  first  Methodist  church  in  the 
county  ain't  got  no  business  foolin'  around  with 
rebel  newspapers." 

"You're  right,  Tilly,"  said  Tubbs,  meekly,  "but 
I  can't  quite  make  it  out.  If  Plumb  was  here  he 
could  straighten  me  in  ten  minutes,  and  Barney 
Kelly  could  put  me  back  in  the  fold,  but  '  my  feet 
were  almost  gone  and  my  steps  had  well  nigh 
slipped/ '' 

Time  passed.  Tubbs  kept  his  own  counsel  and 
prayed,  with  all  the  fervor  of  his  strong  nature,  to 
be  delivered  from  the  snares  of  the  tempter.  He 
felt  that  he  wasn't  true  to  Kansas  ;  that  he  was 
"  goin'  ag'in  the  platform  ; "  that  he  was  violating 
one  of  the  cardinal  principles  of  his  life  and  polit 
ical  training,  to  vote  the  ticket  and  ask  no  ques^- 


72  Tubbs  of  Kansas. 

tions.  To  add  to  his  perplexity  and  unrest  he  was 
made  chairman  of  the  county  delegation  to  Topeka, 
and  he  watched,  with  anguish,  his  wife  as  she  laid 
out  upon  the  bed  his  Prince  Albert  coat  and  black 
striped  trousers,  and  carefully  brushed  his  high  hat 
of  many  years'  service. 

When  Tubbs  reached  Topeka  his  first  act  A\^as  to 
call  around  at  the  Santa  Fe  general  offices  to  pay 
his  respects,  in  accordance  with  the  unwritten  law 
of  delegates  to  the  State  convention.  .And,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  the  high  officers  of  state,  and 
heard  their  kind  and  affectionate  inquiries  as  to 
himself  and  family,  and  received  instructions  for 
the  approaching  contest,  he  thought  of  his  doubts 
and  his  hours  of  unbelief ;  of  the  heretical  doctrine 
that  he  had  devoured  on  the  farm  ;  and  the  still, 
small  voice  of  conscience  seemed  to  say:  "Tubbs, 
you  ain't  true  to  your  trainin';  you  ain't  true  to 
Kansas. " 

In  the  cool  of  the  evening  Tubbs  strolled  about 
the  town,  uneasy  and  full  of^  remorse.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  every  man  on  the  street  pointed  a  fin 
ger  at  him  and  cried  :  "There  goes  a  traitor  who 
thinks  for  himself  ! "  Even  the  evolutions  of  the 
flambeau  club  and  the  stirring  and  beautiful  songs 
of  the  Cyclones  and  Coyotes  brought  no  diversion 
to  his  troubled  spirit.  And  at  nine  o'clock  he  with 
drew  from  the  noisy  throng  and  sought  a  little 
room  on  a  back  street,  wherein  he  went  hastily  to 


Tubbs  of  Kansas.  73 

bed  and  dreamed  that  he  was  the  Benedict  Arnold 
of  the  century  and  was  delivering  the  country  over 
to  the  English  free-traders,  to  the  great  indigna 
tion  of  a  highly  protected  ram,  which  was  mak 
ing  for  him  with  terrifying  speed.  And  when  he 
awoke  in  a  great  state  of  fear  and  perspiration  it 
was  four  o'clock.  And  he  arose  and  dressed,  "  for, " 
says  Tubbs,  "I  can't  lay  in  the  mo-ruin'." 

So  Tubbs  went  down  to  the  tavern,  where  he 
found  the  other  members  of  the  delegation  sitting 
up  against  the  office  wall,  waiting  for  the  roosters 
to  herald  the  advance  of  the  king  of  day,  and 
discussing  a  modification  of  the  prohibition  law  to 
suit  emergencies.  To  them,  with  evil  and  malicious 
intent,  came  a  godless  young  man  from  a  lost  city 
in  Missouri,  and  said :  "  Boys,  I've  got  a  prime 
article  down  in  my  grip."  And  with  one  accord 
those  statesmen  arose  and  shouted,  u  Where  ?" 

When  Tubbs  had  taken  a  long  and  steady  pull 
he  felt  better.  And  after  breakfast  two  or  three  of 
the  leading  railroad  magnates  and  statesmen  of 
Kansas  dropped  around  and  talked  to  him  pleas 
antly  and  convincingly.  Unburdening  himself, 
he  told  of  his  troubles  and  his  doubts.  Then  con 
versation  became  general,  and  Tubbs  went  up 
stairs  and  took  another  longer  and  steadier  pull, 
and  declared  that  he  was  ready  for  the  conflict. 

Looking  at  Tubbs  in  the  convention  hall  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  recognize  the  sad, 


74  Tiibb*  of  Kansas. 

troubled  old  man  who  left  his  farm  perplexed 
by  free-trade  pamphlets  and  tariff  reform  here 
sies.  Tubbs  was  in  his  element.  The  old  Kansas 
spirit  was  on  him. 

"Again  Afarengo's  Held  was  won, 
And  Jena's  bloody  battle." 

Again  he  was  ready  to  fight  for  John  Brown, 
or  sheep,  or  tin  plates,  or  cotton  ties,  or  anything 
else  that  might  be  suggested.  Again  he  was  sur 
rounded  by  congenial  spirits,  and  again  the 
watchword  was  "  Hooray  ! " 

Tubbs  fairly  bubbled  over  with  excitement. 
And  when  it  seemed  that  his  enthusiasm  must 
have  reached  its  height,  the  Coyotes,  the  sweet 
singers  of  that  glorious  day  and  generation,  came 
forth  and  delivered  themselves  of  a  beautiful 
patriotic  melody,  of  which  the  concluding  deli 
cately  sentimental  lines  ran  as  follows: 

"  When  old  Cleveland  lays  him  do\vn  to  die, 
And  sees  this  grand  army  in  the  sky, 

He'll  have  nothing  to  do  but  roast  and  fry 

Keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road." 

"Hooray!"  shouted  Tubbs.  "Glory,  hallelu 
jah  ! " 

The  burst  of  enthusiasm  excited  by  this  fine  bit 
of  typical  Kansas  poetry  having  subsided,  Tubbs 
arose  and  called  upon  that  grand  statesman  and 
powerful  advocate,  Mr.  llamfat,  to  "address  the 
meetinV  Mr.  Ham  fat  came  forward  with  alacrity. 
lie  had  made  the  question  of  the  tariff  a  life-long 


Tubbs  of  Kansas.  75 

study,  and  was  prepared  to  demolish  all  unfriendly 
criticism. 

"When,"  said  Mr.  Hamfat,  "the  hour  of  twelve 
has  come,  the  American  workingman  uncovers  his 
d  inner-pail  —  protected  dinner-pail  —  and  takes 
out  a  slice  of  fresh,  white  American  bread  —  pro 
tected  bread." 

"  Hooray  !  "  shouted  Tubbs. 

"Then  he  brings  out  a  nice  roll  of  fresh  country 
American  butter — protected  butter." 

"Hooray!"  yelled  Tubbs. 

"  Then  he  draws  forth  a  fine  large  slice  of  Ameri 
can  beef  —  protected  beef." 

"  Hooray  !  hooray  !  "  gasped  Tubbs. 

"Ha!  what  have  we  here?"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Hamfat,  peering  theatrically  into  space,  and 
clutching  the  air  as  if  the  dinner  pail  danced 
before  him.  "  Pie  !  " 

Tubbs  tumbled  in  a  fit,  and  the  convention 
went  wild.  Whoever  has  not  seen  a  Kansas  polit 
ical  gathering  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm  can  have 
little  idea  of  the  excitement  of  that  climax.  Ban 
ners  and  handkerchiefs  were  waved  in  every  part 
of  the  hall,  the  band  played  "Rally  Round  the 
Flag,"  and  the  delegates  stood  on  their  chairs  and 
cheered,  and  sang,  and  whooped,  and  shed  tears, 
and  behaved  altogether  in  a  highly  boisterous  and 
indecorous  manner.  Tariff  reform,  agitation  of 


?fi  Tubbs  of  Kanxax. 

months,  was  upset  by  that  one  word  "pie."  Mr. 
Hamfat's  logic  had  wrought  its  perfect  work. 
What  mattered  the  trifling  formality  of  platform 
or  ticket  to  those  statesmen  who  were  cheering  for 
"pie"?  Mr.  llamfat  descended  with  the  lofty 
assurance  of  a  man  who  has  driven  the  last  nail  in 
the  coffin  of  argument. 

And  that  was  the  last  of  Tubbs  as  a  rational  being. 
From  that  moment  he  sang,  and  danced,  and 
whooped,  and  indorsed  everybody  and  everything. 
lie  heard  the  firing  on  Sumter  for  the  nineteenth 
time.  He  railed  at  the  Democratic  party,  and  he 
drew  such  frightful  pictures  of  Bacchanalian  orgies 
at  the  White  House  under  a  Democratic  admin 
istration  that  even  the  experienced  superintendent 
of  the  State  insane  asylum  came  over  and  watched 
him  with  professional  curiosity  and  solicitude. 
And  he  moved  that  every  candidate  be  nominated 
by  acclamation,  and  that  the  platform  be  adopted 
without  reading,  and  fell  on  Brother  Kelly's  neck 
and  wept,  and  said  :  "  I  was  as  a  sheep  gone  astray, 
but  I  have  returned  to  the  fold,  and  have  conse 
crated  my  life  anew." 

But  they  put  Tubbs  on  a  way  freight  and  sent 
him  home,  where  he  was  received  by  Tilly  with 
feminine  sniffs  of  suspicion  and  certain  forcible 
expressions  of  disapproval.  And  some  hours  later, 
when  in  a  measure  he  had  calmed  down,  Tubbs 
remarked,  apologetically : 


'/WV/AS  of  A'((n*(t*.  77 

"Tilly,  it  does  a  feller  ti  powerful  heap  o'  good 
to  go  up  to  Topeky  and  hear  the  perlitical  issues 
ably  discussed." 


the    fcord    Remembered 


HOW  THE  LORD  REMEMBERED  CURLY. 


IT  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,,  and  there 
was  a  small  commotion  in  Star  Alley.  The  new 
boy  had  come  around  to  get  his  papers.  True,  in 
the  general  cut  and  fit  of  the  new  boy's  clothes 
there  was  nothing  iconoclastic.  His  trousers  were 
decidedly  in  the  nature  of  the  prevailing  style  of 
the  young  men  of  his  class,  being  much  too  short 
in  the  legs  and  considerably  too  spacious  in  the 
seat  and  at  the  knees.  His  shoes  bore  the  aspect 
of  having  been  married,  not  mated,  and  the  toe- 
ends  thereof  seemed  to  threaten  a  general  erup 
tion.  His  shirt  was  unpretentious  enough  to 
disarm  Arabian  hostility,,  and  the  coat  that  loosely 
covered  it  could  not  in  any  way  be  accepted  as  a 
reflection  on  the  taste  of  his  companions.  In  fact, 
on  the  principle  that  a  well-dressed  boy  is  the  boy 
whose  dress  excites  no  comment,  the  new-comer 
was,  in  the  judgment  of  the  alley,  a  well-dressed 
boy. 

But  when  Micky  Finn,  who  was  the  acknowledged 
leader  .of  "de  gang,"  called  attention  to  the  new 
boy's  hair,  there  was  a  general  murmur  of  disap 
probation.  Indeed.,  this  hair  was  quite  a  revela- 


82          Ifow  the  Lord  Remembered  Curly. 

tion  in  its  way.  It  was  fair  and  soft  and  hung  in 
curls  down  to  his  shoulders,  each  curl  standing 
out  as  if  a  mother  had  lovingly  twisted  it  in  her 
fingers.  And  it  was  this  hair  that  gave  great 
often se  to  the  motley  company  waiting  for  the  first 
edition,  and  caused  such  rude  exclamations  and 
personal  interrogations  as  "  Ketch  on  to  de  freak  ! " 
"Look  at  mamma's  pet !"  "It's  one  of  de  seven 
Sutherland  sisters  ! "  "  Why  don't  it  go  to  de 
musyum  ?"  accompanied  by  certain  swaggering 
motions  of  a  threatening  nature. 

The  new  boy  was  not  in  the  least  abashed  or 
intimidated  by  this  outcry,  but  stood  blinking 
lazily  at  the  crowd  with  a  look  on  his  face  that 
was  construed  by  Micky  Finn  as  far-away,  and, 
therefore,  insulting  to  an  eminent  degree.  Micky 
bristled  up. 

"  Who  curled  your  hair  ?  "  he  asked. 

"My  mother,"  answered  the  new  boy,  calmly. 

It  was  a  respectful  answer,  but  Micky  didn't 
like  it.  He  came  a  little  nearer  and  said,  threat 
eningly  : 

"You'll  have  to  cut  it." 

"I  sha'n't,"  said  the  new  boy. 

A  gasp  went  through  the  crowd.  It  was  the 
first  open  rebuke  the  leader  of  the  gang  had 
received  since  he  laid  Tommy  Timmins  low. 
Micky  himself  was  a  little  dazed  at  the  bold 
impertinence.  He  stepped  up  briskly  and  slapped 


How  flic  Lord  Remembered  Curly.         83 

the  new  boy  in  the  face.  For  a  minute  there  was 
a  confusion  of  legs  and  arms  and  boots  and  curls, 
and  from  the  dust  arose  wails  from  Micky,  who 
was  receiving  in  all  parts  of  his  small  anatomy 
painful  punches  from  the  vigorous  fists  of  "  mam 
ma's  pet."  And  when  one  of  the  pressmen  ran  out 
and  pulled  off  the  new  boy  the  Finn  dynasty  had 
perished.  The  king  was  dead.  Long  live  the 
king! 

It  is  only  just  to  the  new  boy  to  say  that  he 
bore  his  honors  with  becoming  humility,  and 
accepted  the  crown  and  the  succession  with  no 
trace  of  undue  exhilaration.  lie  told  the  com 
mittee  of  notification,  Patsy  Haley  and  Reddy 
Dobbs,  that  his  mother  called  him  Jamie,  and  he 
admitted,  very  frankly,  that  he  didn't  like  the 
name.  But  the  boys  had  already  dubbed  him 
Curly,  and  Curly  he  shall  be  to  the  end  of  this 
chapter. 

As  the  days  went  by  Curly  grew  in  the  confi 
dence  and  esteem  of  the  gang.  Even  Micky  was 
his  stanch  lieutenant.  And  one  night  when  the 
leader  of  the  opposition  crowd  offered  to  wipe 
Curly  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  Micky  then  and 
there  threw  himself  into  the  breach  as  a  vicarious 
sacrifice.  But  Curly  refused  to  be  deprived  of  his 
prerogatives,  and  with  great  ardor  and  almost 
unseemly  haste  he  thrashed  his  incautious  dial- 


84         How  the  Lord  Remembered  CuTly. 

lenger,  and  transferred  the  cliampionsliip  to  "dc 
West  Side." 

In  all  projects  for  mental  recreation  and  improve 
ment  Curly  was  the  leading  spirit.  After  the 
papers  were  off  and  sold  he  would  put  himself  at 
the  head  of  the  gang  and  pilot  the  way  to  the 
Varieties,  where  Mile.  Spaghetti,  the  charming 
queen  of  song,  was  a  stellar  attraction  of  the  first 
magnitude.  And  there  lie  and  his  companions 
would  sit  through  the  performance,  munching  pea 
nuts  and  other  nutritious  luxuries,  listening  crit 
ically  to  the  musical  numbers  and  commenting  in 
the  hearty,  unbiased  way  of  the  juvenile  connois 
seur.  And  after  the  show  they  would  repair  to 
their  favorite  chop-house,  which  they  designated 
by  the  somewhat  misleading  title  "declub,"  and 
partake  of  such  viands  as  only  a  boy's  stomach  can 
successfully  withstand. 

There  was  great  excitement  in  Star  Alley  when 
the  play-bills  announced  that,  in  consequence  of  an 
imperative  demand  for  her  presence  in  the  East, 
prior  to  her  return  to  Paris,  Mile.  Spaghetti  would 
take  a  positively  final  farewell  benefit.  The  man 
ager  begged  leave  to  announce  that  for  this  occa 
sion,  by  superhuman  efforts  and  at  fabulous 
expense,  he  had  engaged  the  services  of  Mile. 
Natalie,  the  world's  greatest  skirt-dancer.  JIc 
also  desired  to  add,  incidentally,  that  with  a  reck 
less,  almost  fatal,  disregard  of  the  terrible  financial 


How  the  Lord  Remembered  Curly.  85 
risk  involved,  he  had  stipulated  for  the  appearance 
of  Zuleika,  the  peerless  Mistress  of  the  Air,  who 
would  leap  from  a  .Hying  trapeze  and  turn  three 
distinct  somersaults  before  alighting  in  the  net. 
Other  startling  attractions  would  be  offered  in 
addition  to  the  great  charm  of  the  beneficiary  her 
self,  who  would  not  only  sing  her  wonderful 
creation,  "La  Palonia,"  but  would  appear  inner 
most  dazzling  protean  specialties. 

In  the  interval  between  the  sale  of  the  first 
edition  and  the  appearance  of  the  second,  Curly 
called  a  meeting  of  the  gang  and  announced  that 
the  fraternity  would  be  expected  to  honor  the  great 
Spaghetti  in  a  body,  lie  argued  with  great  earnest 
ness  that  the  gang  had  always  encouraged  true  and 
conscientious  art,  and  he  submitted  that  the  efforts 
of  the  manager  in  catering  broadly  and  liberally  to 
an  advanced  popular  taste  merited  marked  and 
substantial  recognition.  These  remarks,  which  are 
generalized  with  only  the  faintest  suggestion  of 
Curly's  eloquence,  were  greeted  with  great  enthu 
siasm  and  indorsed  by  a  full  bench. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  the  utmost  surprise  that 
on  the  afternoon  preceding  the  only  Spaghetti's 
farewell  triumph  the  boys  in  the  alley  noted  the 
absence  of  Curly.  The  last  edition,  and  then  the 
postscript,  came  out  on  the  street,  and  still  the 
leading  patron  of  art  was  missing.  At  a  quarter 
before  eight  there  was  a  call  of  the  roll  at  the 


86         How  the  Lord  Remembered  Curly. 

usual  rendezvous,  and  all  responded  save  one. 
That  one  was  Curly.  With  heavy  hearts  the  gang 
filed  into  the  theater,  and  took  its  elevated  position 
of  honor.  But  the  entertainment  had  been  robbed 
of  its  chief  glory.  In  vain  the  erstwhile  Queen  of 
Song  warbled  her  most  bewitching  lyrics.  In  vain 
the  peerless  Natalie  shook  her  skirts  and  disported 
to  the  pleasing  strains  of  the  augmented  orchestra. 
Gloom  reigned  in  the  critics'  corner,  and,  finally, 
when  the  lithe  Zuleika  swung  gracefully  from  the 
trapeze,  the  disgusted  Patsy  Haley  stood  up  and 
bade  her,  in  tones  of  wrathful  scorn,  "come  off  de 
perch."  That  was  exactly  what  she  intended  to 
do,  but  so  disconcerted  was  the  Mistress  of  the  Air 
by  the  shrill,  piping  command  that  she  came  off 
too  soon,  and  instead  of  turning  three  distinct 
somersaults,  as  per  three-sheets,  she  landed  a  con 
fused,  disheveled  and  disgraced  mass  in  the  out 
stretched  net,  and  the  boys,  with  many  cutting 
expressions  of  ribaldry  and  wrath,  went  over  to  the 
club  and  banqueted  in  solemn  silence.  And  the 
consensus  of  opinion  gathered  then  and  there  was 
that  the  benefit  had  been  a  failure,  and  that  the 
beautiful  Spaghetti  was  an  "old  stiff." 

Another  day  passed,  and  Curly  had  neither  ap 
peared  nor  sent  word  of  comfort.  The  gang  was 
becoming  demoralized,  and  there  were  indications 
of  an  onslaught  from  the  Philistines  of  the  East 
side.  Micky  Finn  rose  up  to  meet  the  emergency. 


How  the  Lord  Remembered  Curly.  87 
He  admitted  that  Curly  might  be  wrestling  with 
diphtheria  or  even  contending  against  scarlet 
fever,  but  something  had  to  be  done  right  away. 
So,  having  disposed  of  his  papers  at  a  slaughter 
sale,  he  summoned  Patsy  Haley  and  Reddy  Dobbs 
and  organized  a  committee  of  investigation. 

Curly  and  his  widowed  mother  occupied  unpre 
tentious  apartments  in  a  well-filled  tenement-house 
at  a  convenient  distance  from  the  madding  crowd. 
For  purposes  of  ventilation  and  other  reasons,  hy 
gienic  and  economic,  these  apartments  were  at  a 
considerable  distance  above  the  telegraph  wires,  and 
commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  packing-house  dis 
trict  and  the  bend  of  the  Missouri  River  where  it 
travels  away  from  Kansas  at  a  regular  speed  of  four 
miles  an  hour.      The  boys  knew  little  of  Curly's 
mother  beyond  the   fact   that  she  was  a  sewing- 
woman   with  strong   religious   tendencies   which, 
thus   far,  had   not  been   transmitted  to  her  son. 
However,  so  great  was  the  awe  inspired  by  the  very 
thought  of  a  person  with  authority  over  Curly  that 
they  had  no  sooner  climbed  the  three  narrow  nights 
leading  to  Curly's  suite  than  their  courage  failed 
them.0  They  paused  at  the  end  of  the  long,  gloomy 
hall  and  emitted  those  peculiar  sounds  by  which  a 
boy  signifies  to  another  boy  that  he  is  wanted. 

Great  was  the  satisfaction  of  the  gang  when  the 
door  opened  and  Curly's  head  protruded.  Then 
Curly's  body  followed,  and  directly  Curly's  legs  car- 


Hoic  the  Lord  Remembered  Curly. 

rierl  him  down  the  hall  to  his  lieutenants,  by  whom 
he  was  received  with  fitting  demonstration  of  affec 
tion. 

"  Wot's  de  matter,  Curly  ?  "  asked  Micky. 

"Mother's  sick." 

"Well,  ain't  yer  had  no  doc  ?" 

"No." 

"Why  ain't  yer  had  no  doc?"  demanded  Patsy 
Haley,  sternly. 

"Because,"  answered  Curly,  desperately,  "I 
ain't  had  no  money.  First  it  was  de  rent,  and 
den  it  was  t'ings  to  rat,  and  we  got  broke  before 
we  knowed  it. " 

A  faint  voice  called  from  the  chamber,  and  Curl  v 
disappeared  with  more  rapidity  than  he  had  come. 
The  boys  looked  at  one  another,  and  Micky  blurted 
out: 

"  How  much  yer  got,  Patsy  ?  " 

"  T'irty-t'ree  cents." 

"  How  much  yer  got,  Reddy  ?  " 

"Twenty-four  cents." 

"And  I've  got  forty-one  cents.  Dat  makes 
ninety-eight  cents  tor  pay  for  a  doc  fer  Curly's 
mudder.  We  owe  it  to  him,  anyhow.  When  my 
dog  was  took  up  Curly  paid  ter  git  him  out.  \Vhen 
you  got  stuck  on  der  extry  papes,  Recldy,  Curlv 
took  'em  off  yer  hands.  When  Patsy  lost  all  his 
money  on  craps  Curly  paid  for  his  supper  and  took 
him  to  der  te-ayter.  So  we'll  hire  de  doc." 


How  the  Lord  Remembered  (Jvrly.         89 

"But  no  doc  ain't  goiii  to  come  for  no  ninety- 
eight  cents/'  scornfully  said  Reddy. 

"  Wot's  de  reason  he  ain't  ?  "  replied  Micky.  "  l)e 
boom  is  off,  and  docs  is  liable  tercomcfer  wotcley 
can  get.  An'  I  knows  one  dat'll  come  anyhow. 
It's  Doc  Streator.  I  seed  him  out  at  de  ball  game 
Sunday  afternoon,  an''  he's  de  right  stuff." 

Doctor  Streator  sat  in  his  office  discussing  Presi 
dential  possibilities  with  a  friend.  It  had  been  a 
prosperous  day  with  .the  doctor,  and  he  felt  con 
vivial  and  friendly.  And  when  he  said  "  Come  in," 
and  three  small  and  not  over-prepossessing  boys 
entered,  he  was  more  cordial  than  might  have  been 
expected. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  We  want  yer  to  come  and  see  a  sick  woman," 
said  Micky. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  got  ?  " 

''Ninety-eight  cents." 

"You  don't  suppose  Fm  going  down  into  the 
footpad  district  for  ninety-eight  cents,  do  you?" 

Micky  grinned.  "Yer  said  yer'd  go  any  time  I 
asked  yer." 

"  I  did,  eh  ?     When  did  I  say  that  ?  " 

"Out  at  de  ball  game  one  Sunday  afternoon." 

The  doctor's  friend  leaned  back  and  laughed. 
"So  you  patronize  Sunday  ball  games,-  do  you, 
Streator  ?  Tell  us  about  it,  kid." 

"  It  was  de  great  game  between  Minneapolis  and 


00         Ilo  w  the  Lord  Rein  on  be  red  Curly. 

Kansas  City  fer  tie  championship,"  said  Mickey. 
"  Me  an'  Curly  an'  licddy  here  an*  Patsy  had  made 
a  sneak  over  de  fence  when  de  cops  wasn't  lookin'. 
De  grand-stand  an'  bleachers  was  all  full,  an'  de 
people  was  pourin'  down  inter  de  field.  We  stood 
near  de  doc  an'  two  or  free  udder  swells  in  de 
nint'  iimin'  when  Minneapolis  was  two  runs 
ahead." 

"Yes,  I  remember  that  inning,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Gunny  came  ter  de  bat,"  resumed  Micky,  "an' 
made  a  hit.  Den  Swartzell,  what  can't  hit  a  bal 
loon  mostly,  knocked  one  over  de  second  bag. 
An'  Holland  hit  a  slow  one  inter  de  infield,  an'  de 
muckers  was  so  excited  datcley  tumbled  all  over  it, 
an'  Gunny  come  home.  Den  little  Xic  sent  anud- 
der  easy  one,  an'  he  an'  Holland  got  put  out  on  de 
double  play.  About  did  time  Round-de-AYorld 
Jimmy  he  gits  foxy  an'  waits,  an'  gits  a  base  on 
balls.  An' everybody  was  so  excited  dat  dey  breaks 
inter  de  diamon'  an'  hollers  an'  yells,  an'  Elmer 
Smith  a-standin'  at  de  plate,  swingin'  his  but  an' 
waitiii'  fer  a  good  one.  An'  I  seed  de  doc  a-wavin' 
his  hat  an'  hollerin'  with  de  rest  of  'em.  De  Min 
neapolis  pitcher  got  rattled,  an'  it  was  ten  minutes 
before  de  cops  could  get  de  doc  an'  dc  rest  back 
interline,  while  dey  kep'  on  hollerin':  'Hit  'er 
out,  Elmer  !'  An'  fin'ly  Elmer  got  one  just  where 
he  wanted  it,  an'  hit  'er  out  fer  free  bags,  way  ter 
de  center-field  fence,  an' Swartzell  an' Jimmy  come 


How  the  Lord  Remembered  Curly.          91 

streakiii  in,  an'  we  knowed  de  game  was  won.  An' 
we  all  broke  inter  de  diamon'  ag'in  an'  turned  flip- 
flaps  an'  hollered.  An'  de  doc  was  jumpin' around 
an'  flingin'  his  arms,  an'  he  hit  me  chug  in  de  eye. 
An'  den  he  gave  me  ten  cents  an'  told  me  dat  if  I 
ever  wanted  him  I  should  call  on  him  an'  say  : 
'  Minneapolis."1 

The  doctor  threw  himself  back  and  chuckled  at 
the  reminiscence,  and  his  friend  opened  his  mouth 
and  showed  such  a  wide  expanse  of  palate,  and 
laughed  so  uproariously,  that  the  three  boys  fell 
back  in  evident  alarm.  The  doctor  was  the  first 
to  recover. 

"As  a  man  of  my  word,"  said  he,  "I  must  see 
this  thing  through.  Come  on,  boys  ;  we'll  go  and 
take  a  look  at  the  <mudder.": 

"And  I'll  go  along,  too,"  said  his  friend.  "Per 
haps  here  is  an  opportunity  for  genuine  philan 
thropy.  Don't  you  worry  about  the  bill,  boys," 
he  added,  kindly  ;  "I'll  look  after  that  myself." 

"  Dat's  de  room  ;  de  t'ird  one  to  de  left,"  whis 
pered  Micky,  as  the  party  stopped  to  breathe  on 
the  third  landing.  And  as  the  two  gentlemen 
knocked  on  the  door,  he  drew  the  other  boys  aside 
and  said,  decisively  : 

"Yer  heered  de  doc's  friend  say  dat  Curly's 
mudder  ought  to  have  some  delic'cies.  Wot's  de 
matter  wid  our  gittin'  'em  ?  " 

The  proposition  struck  the  boys  favorably,  for 


92          lion1!  the   Lnrd  Remembered  Curly. 

the  idea  that  a  gentleman  could  in  any  way  rise  to 
an  appreciation  of  delicacies,. as  the  poorer  classes 
understood  them,  was  altogether  too  absurd  to  be 
encouraged  or  entertained. 

The  doctor  was  saying,  "  Merely  a  case  of  debility 
and  low  fever,  brought  on  by  over-work  and  insuf 
ficient  and  improper  nourishment,"  when  the  three 
boys  entered  the  room,  bearing  burdens  of  tribute. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked,  sharply. 

"Dem's  delic'cies,"  answered  Micky,  with  pride 
and  confidence. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  look  here,  Streator  !  "  said 
his  friend.  And  he  drew  forth  first  a  cold  pig's- 
foot,  then  a  tin  saucepan  of  beans  with  a  huge 
chunk  of  pork  in  the  middle,  half  a  jelly-cake, 
three  or  four  greasy  crullers,  a  Vienna  sausage, 
liberally  sprinkled  with  horse-radish,  and  a  lemon 
pie.  Curly  was  visibly  affected  by  these  unmis 
takable  evidences  of  affection,  and  his  eyes  rested 
lovingly  on  the  pie. 

"For  a  low  fever,"  said  the  doctor,  thoughtfully, 
"  I  cannot  conscientiously  recommend  this  sort  of 
diet."  And  as  the  boys'  faces  fell,  he  added  :  "A 
little  quiet  celebration  in  the  hall  in  the  way  of  a 
supper  for  this  young  man  here  doesn't  seem  to  be 
out  of  the  way." 

80  the  boys  took  Curly  into  the  passageway 
and  stuffed  him  full  of  beans  and  pigs'-l'eet  and 
jelly-cake  and  lemon  pie,  and  told  him  of  the  dis- 


J/ow  tlic  Lord  Remembered  Curb].         93 

grace  that  had  overtaken  the  Mistress  of  the  Air,, 
and  related  the  thousand  and  one  things  that  had 
upset  the  alley  since  his  departure,  and  unfolded 
a  sinister  plot  to  do  up  the  other  gang  as  soon  as 
he  was  able  to  assume  the  command. 

And  the  doctor  talked  cheerily  to  the  mother,, 
and  promised  to  have  her  up  and  out  in  three 
days.  And  his  friend  left  a  five-dollar  bill  on  the 
bible,  and  intimated  that  other  tokens  of  a  friendly 
interest  would  be  speedily  forthcoming.  And  the 
poor  mother,  being  a  very  weak  and  foolish 
woman,  could  only  cry  softly  and  mumble  a  few 
inarticulate  words  about  the  blessing  of  Heaven, 
which  the  two  gentlemen  did  not,  or  pretended 
they  did  not,  hear. 

But  when  the  whole  party  had  gone  off  down 
the  stairs  the  mother  called  Curly  to  her,  and  ran 
her  lingers  through  his  tangled  hair,  and  said  : 
"I  told  you,  Jamie,  that  the  Lord  would  remem 
ber  those  who  trust  in  Him.  You  will  not  forget 
to  thank  Him  and  bless  His  name." 

Curly  went  to  the  window.  Far  down  in  the 
street  three  sturdy  little  figures  were  trudging 
along,  the  happiness  in  their  big  hearts  banishing 
the  remembrance  of  their  empty  pockets.  And 
he  turned  to  the  sick  mother  and  said,  simply  : 

"  An7  de  gang,  mother,  de  gang  !  " 


Jnuoluntari/ 


THE   INVOLUNTARY    MARRIAGE. 


NEAJRLY  forty  years  ago,  when  Thomas  Beuton, 
in  a  spirit  of  prophecy  and  a  premonition  of 
brilliant  futurity,  had  pointed  to  the  Pacific  Ocean 
and  exclaimed :  "  There  is  the  east,  there  is 
India  !  "  the  restless  fortune-seekers  had  begun  to 
drift  into  Kansas.  Some  passed  on  to  the  mount 
ains,  others  to  the  far-away  gold-fields  of  Cali 
fornia,  while  the  more  prudent  and  conservative 
remained  Avheie  the  well-watered  and  fertile  val 
leys  promised  fields  of  golden  cereals  more  attrac 
tive  and  less  illusive  than  the  precious  metal  of  the 
new  El  Dorado.  Many  of  these  people  are  living 
to-day,  less  adventurous,  less  hazard-loving  than 
when  they  first  crossed  the  Missouri  River,  but  full 
of  that  same  spirit  and  impulse  that  made  a  Kansas 
possible.  If  they  have  lost  their  youth  they  have 
not  lost  their  pride  in  the  memory  of  their  youth, 
and  the  tales  they  relate  and  the  incidents  they 
recall  are  full  of  the  quaint  humor  that  adds 
delight  to  the  recital. 

There  were  cranks  in  those  days,  the  wildest, 
maddest,  most  hopeless  cranks;  cranks  of  every 
shade  and  every  tendency  ;  cranks  in  religious 

7  97 


98  Tic  Involuntary  Murriayr. 

belief  and  in  social  customs  ;  cranks  that  criticised 
the  Lord  and  detied  the  devil ;  cranks  in  politics 
and  in  art ;  cranks  in  manner  and  in  dress.  And 
they  all  seemed  to  come  together  by  a  common 
impulse  and  to  move  into  Kansas. 

That  one  crank  should  tolerate  another  was  the 
very  essence  of  the  true  spirit  of  liberty.  It  was  a 
sort  of  chivalrous  idea  of  freedom  entirely  con 
sistent  with  the  American  spirit  of  progress,  and 
was  founded  on  the  conviction  that  time  would 
make  the  test  and  prove  all  things.  Tim  Murphy 
exemplified  this  spirit.  Tim  had  drifted  into 
Kansas  in  search  of  adventure,,  and,  in  one  way  and 
another,  had  found  it  until  he  settled  down  in  the 
reposeful  dignity  of  a  saloon-keeper.  His  tremen 
dous  strength  and  his  fighting  qualities  added 
greatly  to  his  reputation,  and,  as  he  had  thrashed 
every  pretender  in  the  neighborhood,  lie  was  much  * 
admired  and  respected.  One  day,  while  helplessly 
intoxicated,  he  insulted  a  little  Irishman,  who 
took  advantage  of  his  condition  and  knocked  him 
down  between  two  whisky  barrels.  As  often  as 
Tim  would  essay  to  rise,  his  small  opponent  would 
hit  him  on  the  nose  and  tumble  him  back.  At 
last  the  bystanders  interfered  and  held  the  little 
man,  whereupon  Tim  exclaimed,  with  maudlin 
dignity  :  "  Lave  him  be  ;  lave  him  be,  and  let  him 
sweat  himself  to  death  knockin'  me  down." 

This  anecdote  illustrates  the  tolerant  spirit  of 


The  Involuntary  Marriage.  99 

the  Kansan  toward  his  associates,  granted,  perhaps, 
in  every  instance  save  the  one  never-forgotten  and 
never-forgiven  sin,  slavery  and  pro-slavery  senti 
ment. 

Into  this  strange  jumble  of  social  conditions 
came  Daniel  Eastmann  and  his  wife  forty  years 
ago.  A  queer  old  couple,  with  much  of  the  stern 
ness  of  the  Puritan  and  the  vigor  and  aggressive 
ness  of  the  modern  Yankee  in  their  composition. 
Unhappily,  however,  a  little  of  the  recognized 
austere  morality  of  the  Puritan  character  was 
lacking,  as  duly  appeared.  The  Eastmanns  were 
not  at  the  age  when  people  look  about  for  new 
homes  to  be  acquired  only  by  ceaseless  toil  and 
with  threatening  ills.  But  the  old  man  was 
strong  and  active,  and  capable  of  immense  labors, 
and  his  wife  stood  up  under  her  share  of  the 
responsibilities  with  no  betrayal  of  weakness  or  dis 
appointment.  They  had  pushed  on  to  the  westward 
in  their  search  for  an  abiding-place,  and,  finding 
nothing  that  promised  contentment,  had  returned 
to  Kansas  and  settled  down  to  the  ordinary  details  of 
pioneer  life  in  one  of  the  best  and  most  prosperous  of 
the  Kansas  settlements.  They  were  good-natured, 
easy-going  folk,  and  as  they  minded  their  own  busi 
ness  in  a  strictly  legitimate  way,  they  were  looked 
upon  as  no  undesirable  additions  to  the  commu 
nity.  For  it  was  one  of  the  privileges  of  the  time 
that  the  people  in  the  main  were  too  busv  with 


100  The  Involuntary  Marriage. 

their  own  affairs  to  waste  the  hours  gossiping 
about  their  neighbors. 

Little  by  little,  however,  the  rumor  went  around 
that,  notwithstanding  the  decorous  behavior  of  old 
man  Eastmann  and  his  partner,  and  despite  the 
undisputed  nature  of  their  relations,  the  couple 
had  never  been  married.  The  women  were  the 
first  to  discover  this  delicate  social  question,  and 
to  express  their  regret  that  in  the  hurry  to  get 
along  in  life  the  old  people  had  overlooked  this 
trifling  formality.  The  men  shrugged  their  shoul 
ders  and  remarked  that  that  was  "  Eastmann 's  busi 
ness,"  and  if  Mrs.  Eastmann  was  satisfied  it  was  not 
necessary  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  the  amicable 
domestic  arrangement.  Moreover,  they  had  no 
children ;  therefore,  no  damage  could  be  done 
except  in  the  way  of  example,  and  as  long  as  the 
example  was  merely  tolerated,  not  indorsed,  it 
would,  doubtless,  end  right  there. 

For  this  magnanimous  sentiment  the  old  gentle 
man  did  not  evince  any  surprising  amount  of  grat 
itude.  When  he  learned  that  his  "arrangement" 
had  been  subjected  to  discussion  and,  in  instances, 
to  criticism,  he  boldly  acknowledged  the  state  of 
affairs.  lie  called  attention  to  the  agitated  con 
dition  of  American  society,  to  the  numerous  crazes 
that  were  affecting  the  people,  and  intimated  that 
he  had  as  much  right  to  his  whim  as  other  people 
had  to  theirs.  Furthermore,  with  him  it  was 


The  Involuntary  Marriage.  101 

strictly  a  matter  of  conscience,  'and  he  flattered 
himself  that  he  had  at  last  come  to  a  part  of  the 
country  where  individual  conscience  counted  for 
a  great  deal. 

This  compliment  to  Kansas  pleased  the  com 
munity  immensely.  Moreover,  it  was  not  to  be 
denied  that  the  delicate  reminder  as  to  "other 
people's  whims"  smacked  of  a  truth  that  was 
irrefutable.  So  the  little  peculiarity  was  passed 
over  as  an  innocuous  fancy,  and  the  Eastmanns 
were  firmly  established  as  a  part  of  the  social 
fabric.  Occasionally  the  old  man  would  partake 
too  freely  of  the  popular  liquor  of  the  day,  and  at 
such  times  would  discourse  eloquently  on  the 
iniquitous  marriage  laws  of  the  United  States,  but 
these  orations  merely  amused  the  neighbors,  and 
did  not  in  the  least  detract  from  his  standing  or 
debar  him  from  the  privileges  of  social  gayeties. 

One  night  the  Perkinses  gave  an  entertainment 
of  unusual  brilliancy,  and  as  Perkins  was  some 
what  of  a  crank  himself  he  made  it  a  special  point 
that  all  the  other  cranks  should  be  present.  Inas 
much  as  the  cranks,  of  one  kind  or  another,  com 
posed  four-fifths  of  the  population,  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  the  hospitable  home  of  the  Perkinses 
was  the  theater  of  a  large  and  brilliant  collection 
of  human  freaks.  The  Eastmanns  were  conspicuous 
among  the  guests,  not  only  through  reason  of  their 
entertaining  social  qualities,  but  on  account  of  the 


102  The  Involuntary  Marriar/e. 

exhilarating  amount  of  liquor  which  the  old  man 
carried  where  he  felt  it  would  do  him  the  most  good. 
He  was  in  an  argumentative  mood  also,  and  the 
marriage  laws  of  the  country  were  shown  to  be 
unjust  and  inhuman  in  every  corner  of  Perkins's 
house. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Duncan  looked  upon  Eastman n 
with  sorrow  stamped  on  his  benevolent  face.  Mr. 
Duncan  was  a  holy  man.  He  endeavored,  by  his 
godly  life  as  well  as  by  his  spiritual  exhortation,  to 
bring  his  people  into  the  strait  and  narrow  path 
and  keep  them  there.  The  peculiar  relation  of  the 
Eastmanns  had  always  been  to  this  worthy  man  the 
source  of  sincere  grief  and  perplexing  thought. 
How  to  influence  them  to  a  realization  of  their 
offense  against  Christian  morality  and  the  enlight 
ened  spirit  of  the  age  was  the  problem  that  con 
sumed  many  of  his  moments.  Eastmann,  fond  as 
he  was  of  argument  and  of  defending  his  theories, 
could  never  be  brought  to  face  Parson  Duncan.  If 
they  met  on  the  street,  the  old  man  hurried  on 
with  a  half-respectful  nod.  If  the  preacher  halted 
before  his  gate,  Eastmann  slipped  out  of  the  back 
door.  To  outsiders  it  appeared  that  the  old  man 
was  afraid  of  the  parson,  but  Eastmann  excused  him 
self  on  the  ground  that  preachers  had  no  sense  and 
weren't  worth  talking  to.  So  matters  had  run 
along  for  months,  and  apparently  Parson  Duncan 


The  Involuntary  Marriage.  103 

was  as  far  away  from  all  hope  of  practical  good  as 
ever. 

When  the  parson  looked  around  the  Perkinses' 
rooms  and  saw  the  Eastmanns,  something  told  him 
that  the  hour  had  come.  A  social  gathering  is  not 
exactly  the  place  for  earnest  missionary  work,  but 
Parson  Duncan  went  on  the  theory  that  he  must 
do  his  Master's  bidding  at  any  time  or  place, 
according  as  it  is  written  :  "  Whatsoever  thy  hand 
fincleth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might."  In  this 
cheerful  and  godly  resolution  he  was  favored  by 
circumstances.  Eastmann  stood  in  the  corner  of 
the  room  with  a  dozen  grinning  friends  around 
him.  He  discoursed  on  his  favorite  theme  :  liberty 
of  action  and  liberty  of  conscience  ;  and  what  he 
lacked  in  argument  he  made  up  in  declamation  and 
gesture.  The  parson  quietly  edged  his  way  into 
the  circle,  adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  listened. 
And  when  the  parson  looked  over  his  spectacles,  it 
was  a  trying  and  a  critical  moment  for  the  devil 
and  the  instruments  of  his  mischief. 

The  old  man  scowled.  Plainly,  he  was  annoyed 
by  the  parson's  presence.  Truly,  the  goodness  that 
shone  round  about  that  righteous  man  was  a  con 
stant  menace  to  even  the  smallest  impropriety,  and  a 
perpetual  rebuke.  But  there  was  no  dodging  the 
issue.  He  must  go  ahead  or  strike  his  colors,  and 
to  a  man  of  Eastmann's  pride  and  doggedness  sur 
render  was  out  of  the  question.  Indeed,  after  the 


104  The  Involuntary  Marriage. 

first  surprise,  he  was  gratified  to  note  that  he  was 
more  fluent  than  usual,  and  with  his  renewal  of 
courage  came  a  wealth  of  sarcasm  and  a  fund  of 
wit  that  delighted  his  hearers  and  provoked  many 
outbursts  of  laughter.  Mrs.  Eastmann,  standing 
near,  took  no  part  in  the  conversation,,  but  her 
smiles  showed  her  appreciation  of  the  old  man's 
argument  and  her  sympathy  with  his  opinions. 

Parson  Duncan  was  not  a  joker.  Perhaps  he 
never  willingly  made  a  jest  in  his  life,  and  as  for 
sarcasm,  his  gentle  nature  abhorred  it.  But  he 
was  simple,  and  earnest,  and  straightforward,  and 
he  never  shrank  from  any  contest  that  might  seem 
to  lie  within  his  duty.  So  when  old  Eastmann  had 
finished  he  took  up  the  subject  in  his  thoughtful, 
considerate  way,  and  argued  the  responsibility  of 
the  individual  to  society,  and  the  necessity  of  uni 
formity  in  a  perfect  moral  system.  Furthermore, 
he  quoted  freely  from  the  Scriptures,  instanced 
the  divine  blessing  on  the  marriage  tie,  and  dwelt 
on  the  solemnity  and  beauty  of  the  marriage  cere 
mony  with  such  fervor  that  Mrs.  Eastmann  cast 
down  her  eyes,  and  others  standing  around  were 
visibly  affected. 

The  news  that  Parson  •  Duncan  and  old  East 
mann  had  at  last  locked  horns  spread  with  great 
rapidity,  and  in  a  moment  the  guests  had  crowded 
into  the  room  where  the  discussion  was  at  heat. 
Kastmann's  perversity  and  obstinacy  increased 


The  Involuntary  Marriage.  105 

with  the  size  of  his  audience.  He  held  the 
good  parson's  words  up  to  ridicule  in  a  manner 
that  reflected  great  credit  on  his  powers  at  repar 
tee,  but  to  the  disadvantage  of  his  standing  as  a 
respecter  of  the  cloth.  The  parson's  troubled  face 
showed  that  he  was  pained  by  Eastmann's  levity, 
and  when  he  spoke  again  his  tone  was  more  deci 
sive,  and  boded  no  good  for  the  enemy  of  the  altar. 

"It  is  really  strange,  very  strange,"  said  Parson 
Duncan.  "I  cannot,  even  from  your  argument, 
understand  your  aversion  to  the  marriage  cere 
mony,  as  sanctioned  by  your  country.  You  tell 
me  that  you  love  this  woman  with  whom  you  are 
living." 

"I  don't  deny  that,"  answered  old  Eastmann, 
with  a  grin. 

"And  you  tell  me  further  that  you  expect  to 
live  with  her  as  long  as  you  are  on  earth,  as  every 
husband  is  expected  to  do." 

"  That  has  always  been  my  intention,  and  I  guess 
I'll  stick  to  it." 

The  parson  stood- a  .minute,  absorbed  in  thought. 
"Remarkable,  very  remarkable,"  he  muttered. 
Then,  turning  abruptly  to  the  woman,  and  speak 
ing  gently  to  her  for  the  first  time,  he  asked  : 

"  Can  it  be  true  that  you  love  this  man  who  has 
done  you  a  wrong,  or  at  least  has  encouraged  you 
in  a  false  and  unworthy  belief  ?  " 

The  woman  showed  her  confusion,  and  lowered 


106  The  Involuntary  Marriage. 

her  eyes.  Recovering  herself,  she  looked  at  the 
parson  steadily,  and  said  : 

UI  have  always  loved  him,  sir." 

"  And  do  you,  in  the  face  of  this  error,,  hope  and 
expect  to  live  with  him  all  your  life  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"Then,"  exclaimed  the  holy  man,  with  a  ring 
of  triumph  in  his  voice  and  a  heightened  color  on 
his  face,  "  by  virtue  of  my  office,  and  in  accord 
ance  with  the  laws  that  govern  this  Territory,  I 
pronounce  you  man  and  wife.  Kiss  your  bride, 
sir  ! " 


Colonel 


COLONEL  BOLLINGER. 


DISPUTE  it  who  may,  contradict  it  who  will,  the 
fact  remains  that  the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Order 
of  Colonels  has  been  for  many  years  the  pride  and 
glory  of  the  people  of  the  land  of  Corn.  How  and 
where  this  order  originated  has  never  been 
explained  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the  Colonels 
themselves.  Some  historians  and  archaeologists 
have  claimed  that  it  was  introduced  into  Missouri 
by  Colonel  Daniel  Boone  when  he  left  Kentucky 
in  a  huff  in  1795,  and  that  Colonel  Boone  had 
formed  the  parent  chapter  in  Kentucky  three 
years  before.  Others  assert  that  the  modern  Colo 
nel  did  not  exist,  either  by  right  of  heritage  or  of 
knighthood,  until  after  Missouri  had  been  incor 
porated  as  a  State.  A  third  faction  contends  that 
the  order  sprang  into  existence  shortly  after  the 
Mexican  War,  but  achieved  no  prominence  as  a 
political  or  social  factor  until  the  close  of  the 
operations  in  1860-05.  Be  all  this  as  it  may,  the 
order  has  attained  a  remarkable  growth,  and  now 
numbers  thousands  of  members  in  Missouri  and 
Kansas,  to  say  nothing  of  the  branches  in  other 
States  and  Territories.  Perhaps  next  to  the  Louis- 
109 


110  Colonel  Bollinger. 

villo  chapter,  the  Kansas  City  chapter  is  the  most 
famous,  both  for  its  aggregation  of  wealth,  culture 
and  courtliness,  and  for  the  display  of  those  shin 
ing  social  qualities  which  differentiate  the  true 
Colonel  from  his  fellow-man. 

To  guard  against  all  possible  misapprehension  it 
must  be  said  that  Doctor  Webster's  definition  of 
"Colonel"  is  very  misleading.  The  Colonel,  as 
understood  in  the  Missouri  interpretation  of  the 
word,  is  not  the  leader  of  a  regiment  or  of  a 
column,  and,  in  fact,  has  no  martial  pretensions 
whatever.  ISTor  is  the  word  used  in  the  old 
English  sense  and  in  the  vulgar  manner  described 
by  Samuel  Butler  in  Hudibras.  The  Missouri 
Colonel  is  indeed  a  leader,  but  a  leader  of  men 
and  measures  in  a  purely  civil  or  social  way.  A 
clearer  idea  of  this  distinction  may  be  gained  from 
a  queer  little  pamphlet  which  was  discovered  in 
one  of  the  old  slave  counties  of  central  Missouri 
some  years  ago.  This  pamphlet  purported  to  give 
the  constitution  and  by-laws  of  the  Order  of 
Colonels,  and,  although  it  has  never  been  officially 
acknowledged,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  is 
wonderfully  faithful  to  appearances.  Herein  it  is 
alleged  that  the  order  is  a  social,  not  a  business 
organization,  and  that  business  meetings  are 
strictly  prohibited  save  in  moments  of  rare  emer 
gency.  The  restrictions  bearing  on  membership 
are  thus  set  down  : 


Colonel  Bollinycr.  Ill 

"Article  I.  Section  1.  Once  a  Colonel,  always 
a  Colonel. 

"  Section  2.  Ko  person  who  has  participated  in 
military  service  shall  be  eligible  to  membership. 

"  Section  8.  In  time  of  war  the  Colonel  shall 
prepare  for  peace. 

"Section  4.  The  pen  is  mightier  than  the 
sword,  and  the  priming-hook  has  distinct  advan 
tages  over  the  spear. 

"  Section  5.  Drink  no  longer  water,  but  use  a 
little  stimulant  for  thy  stomach's  sake." 

Colonel  Bellinger  had  been  a  Colonel  for  so  many 
years  that  it  was  popularly  believed  that  he  was 
born  that  way.  Indeed,  Colonel  Bollinger  himself 
smiled  amiably  and  mysteriously  whenever  the 
question  was  introduced  in  his  presence.  He 
lived  on  a  handsome  estate  near  the  city,  and  rode 
a  fine  dapple-gray  mule  into  town  whenever  affairs 
of  state  were  pressing.  For  the  Colonel  was  quite 
an  oracle  in  his  way,  and  his  opinions  were  widely 
sought,  not  only  by  his  fellow-Colonels,  but  by 
people  of  all  conditions  in  life,  more  especially 
political  life.  And  while,  as  a  lawyer,  Colonel 
Bollinger  might  have  acquired  great  wealth  by  the 
sale  of  his  opinions,  such  was  his  overflowing  good 
nature  that  he  would  sit  all  day  in  front  of  a  popu 
lar  caravansary,  dispensing  advice  to  all  comers, 
free  as  salvation,  and  pausing  only  for  a  few 
moments  on  motion  to  adjourn  to  an  excellent 


1 1 2  Colonel  Bollinger. 

place  of  refreshment  in  high  favor  with  the 
Colonels.  And  at  night,  well  pleased  with  a  day 
profitably  spent,  and  a  trifle  top-heavy  from 
excessive  good  cheer,  he  would  mount  the  dapple- 
gray  mule  and  jog  leisurely  homeward,  distribut 
ing  pleasant  greetings  and  delivering  appropriate 
orations  by  the  way. 

Colonel  Bellinger  found  great  delight  in  the 
society  of  Colonel  Dunklin,  with  whom  lie  had 
daily  many  convivial  bouts  and  justs  at  knightly 
repartee.  Colonel  Bellinger  was  much  more  im 
pressive  than  Colonel  Dunklin,  being  of  full  habit, 
with  great  abdominal  capacity,  and  with  a  voice 
that  on  occasion  could  roar  as  fiercely  as  the  Gac- 
tulian  lion  or  "as  gently  as  the  sucking  dove." 
Colonel  Dunklin,  on  the  other  hand,  had  all  the 
mild  outer  characteristics  of  the  typical  Missouri 
Colonel.  He  was  tall  and  willowy.  His  hair  was 
rather  long,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  pathos,  He 
wore  the  black  slouch  hat  of  the  brigadier,  the 
long  black  coat,  the  shiny  trousers  with  the  broad* 
flares  that  covered  the  tight-fitting  boots,  the  vest 
open  down  to  the  last  button,  the  high  collar  and 
the  shoe-string  necktie.  Without  he  was  the  pic 
ture  of  melancholy  and  humility,  but  inwardly,  it 
was  whispered  among  the  Colonels,  he  was  full  of 
dead  men's  bones. 

One   fine  day,  as  was  their  wont  on  all  days, 
regardless  of    meteorological   conditions.    Colonel 


Bollinger.  113 

Bellinger  and  Colonel  Dunklin  were  proceeding 
arm  in  arm  down  the  street  with  a  certain  little 
back  room  as  the  definite  object  in  view.  Colonel 
Bollinger  was  in  an  extraordinary  flow  of  spirits, 
and  his  cheery  oratory  excited  the  smiles  and  the 
admiration  of  the  people  who  paused  to  salute  the 
Colonels  and  receive,  perchance,  a  sort  of  benedic 
tion  in  return.  Turning  a  corner  rather  sharply, 
the  Colonels  were  suddenly  precipitated  into  the 
arms  of  Mr.  Tubbs  of  Kansas,  who  had  come  down 
to  the  city  in  the  interest  of  prohibition,  of  which 
theory  he  was  one  of  the  most  earnest  apostles.  A 
moment  of  profound  embarrassment  followed,  for 
in  the  campaign  of  the  previous  fall  Colonel 
Bollinger  had  made  a  few  Democratic  speeches  in 
Tubbs's  neighborhood,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
debate  had  likened  Tubbs  to  several  pleasing 
varieties  of  the  Mephitis  Americana,  or  domestic 
skunk.  To  which  Tubbs  had  replied  with  spirit, 
repelling  the  implied  family  connection,  and  stig 
matizing  the  Colonel  as  a  vampire,  a  hyena,  a 
buzzard,  and  several  other  birds  and  animals  with 
carnivorous  proclivities.  The  incident  had  been 
taken  up  by  the  party  newspapers,  and  had  led  to 
a  violent  denunciation  of  Colonel  Bollinger,  who 
was  berated  throughout  the  State  of  Kansas  as  an 
ex-rebel  brigadier,  a  guerrilla,  and  a  bushwhacker, 
much  to  the  detriment  of  his  standing  as  a  Colonel. 
Colonel  Bollinger  first  recovered  presence  of 


114  (.Lionel  Bollinger. 

mind.  With  a  sweep  of  his  arm  which  arrested 
the  attention  of  the  passers-by,  and  with  a  tone  of 
the  most  engaging  sweetness,  he  said  : 

"  Ah,  this  must  be  Colonel  Tubbs,  of  Kansas.  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  in  old  Mizzoora,  sir.  Allow 
me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  Colonel  Dunklin, 
one  of  the  old  guard,  sir." 

And  before  the  still  embarrassed  Tubbs  could 
reply  he  went  on : 

"When  we  last  met,  Colonel  Tubbs,  over  in  your 
country,  sir,  we  had  a  passage  at  arms.  Accord 
ing  to  the  brutalities  of  life  we  should  still  be  ene 
mies,  but  I  cannot  forget,  sir,  that  you  are  now  in 
my  territory,  and  the  laws  of  hospitality  forbid. 
I  may  add  that  I  am  glad,  sir,  that  we  are  so  hap 
pily  met.  My  friend  Colonel  Dunklin  and  I 
were  stepping  down  for  a  little  refreshment.  Will 
you  join  us  ?  You  must  join  us." 

Tubbs  offered  a  feeble  resistance  and  surren 
dered.  Moreover,  it  was  now  high  noon,  and 
Tubbs  was  weary  and  dry.  The  three  gentlemen 
passed  down  the  street,  turned  one  corner,  then 
another,  and  disappeared  behind  a  door  which  was 
familiar  to  every  Colonel  in  at  least  two  States. 
They  passed  unflinchingly  by  the  elegantly  pol 
ished  counter  and  into  the  room  beyond. 

The  little  old  gentleman  who  was  expectantly 
taking  down  three  tumblers  stared  at  them  in 
astonishment.  "  I  have  been  in  business  a  good 


Colonel  Bollinger.  115 

many  years,"  said  he  confidentially  to  his  assistant, 
"and  I  have  had  considerable  experience  with  the 
Colonels,  from  whom  I  derive  not  a  little  of  my 
princely  revenue,  but  this  is  the  first  time  that  I 
ever  saw  any  of  them  pass  this  counter  without 
weakening." 

"Colonel  Tubbs,"  said  Colonel  Bollinger,  as  the 
gentlemen  sat  down  at  the  table,  "if  I  am  not 
deceived  in  the  habit  of  you  Kansas  gentlemen,  it 
must  be  hours  since  you  breakfasted."  Then, 
addressing  the  negro  waiter  :  "  George,  take  the 
gentleman's  order." 

Tubbs  began  to  feel  a  little  more  at  ease.  "  If 
you  don't  mind,"  said  he,  half  apologetically,  "I 
think  I  will  try  a  whitefish.  Not  that  we  don't 
have  fish  in  our  country,"  he  added,  hastily,  "for 
our  channel  cat  is  considered  mighty  good  eatin', 
but  a  whitefish,  with  a  little  whisky  on  the  side" 
—  here  Tubbs  lowered  his  voice  —  "  is  my  favor-ite 
meal." 

"Good,  very  good,"  replied  Colonel  Bollinger, 
approvingly.  "A  whitefish  is  excellent  eating, 
especially  with  whisky,  which  destroys  its  fat  and 
deleterious  qualities.  George,  bring  a  whitefish 
and  a  whisky  —  no,  stop,  a  whitefish  and  three 
whiskies,  and  two  plates  of  bacon  and  greens,  and 
have  three  more  whiskies  ready  on  call." 

All  this  time  Colonel  Dunklin  sat  in  silence, 
with  his  pathetic  eyes  fastened  upon  a  placard  on 


110  Colonel  Bollinger. 

the  wall,  the  letters  standing  out  with  a  clear-cut 
cameo  distinctness,,  and  forming  the  expressive  and 
suggestive  sentence  :  "  Lunch  without  drinks.  20 
cents." 

"I  don't  suppose  that  it  is  right  for  me,"  said 
Colonel  Dunklin,  dreamily,  "to  dictate  to  a  man 
how  he  shall  run  his  business,  and  I  don't  think 
that  twenty  cents  is  too  much  for  a  lunch,  if  the 
lunch  is  clean,  well  cooked  and  palatable.  But 
what  bothers  me  is  how  anybody  in  the  possession 
of  reasoning  faculties  can  want  a  lunch  without 
drinks. " 

"As  for  that  matter,"  replied  Colonel  Bellinger, 
"it  seems  absurd,  from  a  mere  financial  stand 
point,  that  a  man  should  pay  twenty  cents  for  a 
lunch  and  a  drink  when  he  can  get  two  drinks  and 
a  lunch  thrown  in  for  a  quarter.  The  longer  you 
remain  with  us,  Colonel  Tubbs,  the  better  you  will 
understand  these  grasping  tricks  of  the  trade." 

The  whitefish  and  the  Missouri  sauce  had 
diffused  a  gentle  glow  through  Tubbs's  system, 
and  had  put  him  on  friendly,  almost  bold,  terms 
with  his  companions.  "1  should  like  to  be  a 
Colonel  very  much  indeed,"  he  said,  heartily,  "but 
the  fact  is  I  only  got  to  be  a  captain  in  the  war  "- 

At  the  word  "war"  the  Colonels  turned  very 
pale  and  laid  down  their  knives,  shuddering 
violently.  But  Tnbbs,  not  perceiving,  went  on  : 

"  The  question  is,  if  I  became  a  Colonel,  as  I 


Colonel  Bollinycr.  117 

want  to,  ain't  I  likely  to  lose  my  standin'  as  a 
prohibitionist  ?  " 

"Our  attitude,"  answered  Colonel  Bellinger,  "is 
easily  understood.  It  is  always  our  intention,  so 
long  as  God  gives  us  the  strength,  to  throw  our 
influence  against  the  ravages  of  prohibition.  You 
are  undoubtedly  conscientious  in  the  stand  you 
have  taken  —  George,  fill  up  the  gentleman's  glass 
—  but  we  contend  that  all  sumptuary  laws  are 
calculated  to  strike  a  blow  at  the  fundamental 
principles  of  our  system.  While  the  personal 
liberty  of  speech  should  be  in  no  sense  abridged, 
we  cannot,  as  a  body,  interfere  with  the  inequal 
ities  of  the  law  in  other  communities,  except  as 
.pertains  to  personal  welfare  and  comfort." 

"  You  should,  however,  at  all  times,"  interrupted 
Colonel  Dunklin,  "  be  well  fortified  against  these 
inequalities." 

"Of  course,"  said  Colonel  Bellinger,  earnestly, 
"  that  is  understood.  And  so  I  would  advise  you 
to  be  what  we  might  -call  a  non-resident  Colonel, 
submit  as  patiently  as  possible,  and  continue  to  pro 
cure  inspiration  in  the  facile  way  now  popular  in 
Kansas.  I  admire  you,  sir  ;  I  admire  any  man  for 
devotion  to  principle,  however  mistaken.  George, 
bring  me  three  lumps  of  sugar  and  a  very  little 
water.  I  will  show  you,  sir,  how  to  make  an  excel 
lent  Kentucky  toddy." 

As  Tubbs  sipped  the  intoxicant  the  Colonel  so 


118  Colonel  Bellinger. 

skillfully  prepared,  lie  grew  more  and  more  confi 
dential.  "  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you,"  he  said,  "  that 
I'm  a  candidate  for  a  Federal  office.  Now,  if  I  am 
a  Colonel,  wouldn't  that  hurt  me  ?  " 

Colonel  Dunklin  looked  at  Colonel  Bellinger  and 
smiled.  Colonel  Bollinger  carelessly  threw  a  piece 
of  lemon  peal  into  the  cuspidor  and  said,  with 
dignity  : 

"  The  fact  that  a  man  is  a  Colonel  is  good  and 
sufficient  reason  why  he  is  eligible  for  any  office 
whatsoever,  per  se.  And  if  the  office  does  not  seek 
him,  he  is  perfectly  justified  in  seeking  the  office. 
And  I  hold  that  if  the  public  service  appears  so  to 
require,  he  is  free  at  any  time  to  change  his  polit 
ical  views.  In  accordance  with  an  ancient  and 
honorable  precedent,  if  he  is  not  a  candidate  for 
office,  he  may  drink  socially  with  one  who  is,  but 
he  is  not  to  be  subsidized,  hampered  or  impeded 
by  such  courtesy.  For  example  —  George,  bring 
in  three  more  of  the  same  kind,  and  just  a  dash  of 
Angostura." 

Tubbs's  hand  went  down  into  his  pocket,  but  the 
Colonel  waved  him  off  with  a  gesture  full  of  impe 
rious  eloquence. 

"  No,  sir,  not  in  Mizzoora.  You  are  my  guest, 
sir,  and  shall  pay  for  nothing  in  my  presence. 
George,  you  will  see  that  the  gentleman  has  what 
ever  he  wishes,  and  that  he  wants  for  nothing." 


Colonel  Bollinger.  119 

George  grinned,  and  Tubbs  felt  another  weight 
added  to  the  burden  of  his  obligation. 

"And  now,  sir/'  says  Colonel  Bellinger/ rising, 
"  I  must  bid  you  good  day.  I  hope  to  see  you 
often  in  Mizzoora,  sir,  and  to  welcome  you  to  the 
extent  of  our  poor  hospitality." 

Colonel  Dunklin  likewise  stood  up  and  looked  at 
Tubbs  with  his  melancholy  eyes.  And  both  the 
Colonels  bowed  with  great  elegance  and  dignity, 
and  shook  Tubbs's  hand  and  promised  themselves 
the  honor  of  his  society  at  an  early  day.  And  as 
they  passed  out  Tubbs  could  hear  Colonel  Bellin 
ger's  sonorous  voice  discoursing  on  the  fineness  of 
the  day  and  the  glorious  outlook  for  the  mint 
crop. 

"After  all,"  soliloquized  Tubbs,  as  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  gave  himself  up  to  pleasant- 
reflections,  "I  sometimes  wonder  if  we  ain't  too 
hard  on  these  Missourians.  Of  course  they're  . 
dead  wrong,  perlitically,  and  they're  all  of!  on  the 
great  principles  of  prohibition.  But  they're  gen 
ial  and  friendly,  and  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say 
agin  their  hospitality.  That  whitensh  was  prime 
and  the  liquors  fust-class."  And  Tubbs  closed  his 
^eyes  in  an  ecstasy  of  recollection. 

From  this  agreeable  reverie  he  was  roused  by  the 
arrival  of  George,  who  respectfully  laid  a  slip  of 
paper  before  him.  Tubbs  picked  it  up  with  a 
slight  sinking  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach  and  read  : 


120 

"Whitefish,  60  cents  ;  cigars,  50  cents  ;  drink?, 
82.10.     Total,  $3.20.     What's  this  '?  r 
"Debill," 

"But  I  don't  owe  no  bill.  This  is  Colonel  Bol- 
lingers  matter.  Yon  heard  what  he  said." 

The  negro  grinned.  "  I  reckon  cle  Knnnel  done 
fergit.  De  Kimnel  mighty  cur'us  dat  way.  lie 
fergit  a  heap  o'  times,  when  dc  odder  gcn'men 
have  to  pay." 

Tubbs  bowed  his  head  for  a  full  minute.  When 
he  raised  his  face  it  shone  with  a  new  light  and 
was  glorified  by  wisdom. 

" George,"  said  he,  "take  a  good  look  at  me.  I 
am  from  Kansas,  and  my  name  is  Tubbs.  If  ever 
you  see  me  walkin'  into  this  robbers'  roost  with  a 
Colonel  anybody  from  Missouri,  I  want  you  to 
kick  me  down  to  the  river  and  into  it.  Here's 
your  three  twenty." 

An  hour  later  Tubbs  stood  on  the  bluff  that 
looks  far  over  into  Kansas.  In  front  of  him  was 
the  clear  sky,  and  the  fresh  air,  suggestive  of 
sobriety  and  virtue  ;  behind  him  the  smoke  and 
dirt  of  the  city,  typifying  deceit  and  fraud  and 
injured  innocence.  As  he  climbed  into  a  cable 
car  to  bear  him  across  the  river,  another  car  came 
up  the  hill,  and  a  familiar  voice  cried  out : 

"Going  home,  arc  you  ?    A  pleasant  journey  to 

you.     Come  and  see  me  when  you  revisit  the  city." 

Tubbs  looked    at    Colonel    Bellinger,   who  was 


Colonel  Bollinrjcr.  1-1 

waving  a  cordial  farewell  from  the  retreating  car, 
and  almost  fell  from  the  grip  in  his  astonishment 
and  wrath. 

«  Well,  I  am  "— 

But  whatever  he  was,  was  lost  in  the  clang  of 
the  gripman's  bell. 


Deaf   Qar. 


THE  DEAF  EAR. 


MR.  LITTLEJOIIX  JKXKS,  in  spite  of  many  hours 
of  research  and  patient  inquiry  in  the  various 
departments  of  his  family  connection,  was  never 
quite  able  to  discover  at  what  time  or  in  what  way 
he  acquired  a  deaf  ear.  The  traditions  of  the 
household  did  not  point  to  scarlet  fever  or  measles ; 
as  a  boy  he  was  not  allowed  to  go  to  the  swim 
ming-hole,  that  enemy  of  the  organ  of  hearing, 
and  he  was  not  even  able  to  recall  that  the  family 
methods  of  punishment,  while  very  ingenious  and 
numerous  and  altogether  painful,  and  extending 
over  a  large  area  of  epidermis,  included  that 
resounding  salute  on  the  side  of  the  head  which 
is  so  undeservedly  popular  with  thoughtless  par 
ents.  So  Mr.  Jenks,  admitting  the  unimpeach 
able  fact  of  his  hardness  of  hearing,  had  all  the 
evidence  in  the  world  to  prove  that  the  affliction 
was  in  defiance  of  human  precedent  and  contrary  to 
physical  laws.  From  the  moment  that  young  Lit- 
tlejohn  emerged  from  the  nursery  he  was  made  to 
feel  that  he  had  been  hatched  out  of  the  duck  egg. 
A  blithe,  joyous  lad.  he  was  fond  of  his  compan 
ions  and  of  his  sports,  but  his  was  unhappily  a 
125 


l^J  77/6'  Deaf  Ear. 

confidence  that  was  ill-repaid  by  his  playmates, 
who  took  full  advantage  of  his  good  nature  and 
his  infirmity.  He  recalled  in  after  life  the  mem 
orable  day  when  old  Spanker  took  charge  of  the 
district  school,  and  by  his  marvelous  instinct 
detected  the  boys  in  a  flagrant  outrage  on  scho 
lastic  propriety. 

"Who  did  this  ?"  queried  old  Spanker. 

"  Littlejohn  Jenks,"  replied  the  boys,  softly. 

"Did  you  do  this,  Jenks?" 

Xow  Littlejohn  had  not  heard  a  word  of  the 
conversation,  but  a  scheming  little  boy  close  at 
hand  whispered  promptingly: 

"Wants  to  know  if  yer  sorry.'' 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,  if  you  please,  sir,"  replied  Little 
john,  smartly. 

Thereupon  old  Spanker  fell  upon  him  with  an 
awful  grip  and  a  terrifying  strap,  and  larruped  him 
up  and  down  the  row  of  benches,  balancing  to  the 
right  and  swinging  to  the  left  until  the  dignity  of 
the  school-room  had  been  fully  maintained  and 
vindicated.  It  is  due  to  old  Spanker  to  say  that 
when  the  facts  in  the  case  were  developed  he  made  a 
handsome  apology,  which  Littlejohn  did  not  hear, 
but  which  was  repeated  to  him  many  years  after 
by  one  of  his  schoolmates  on  the  gladsome  occasion 
of  old  Spanker's  funeral. 

Such  incidents  as  this  soon  gave  Littlejohn  a 
reserve  and  a  caution  beyond  his  years.  His  buov- 


Tlic  Deaf  Ear.  127 

ancv  and  confidence  were  replaced  by  timidity  and 
suspicion.  He  avoided  his  comrades  and  shrank 
from  his  teachers,  and  as  for  the  girls,  he  was  on 
speaking  terms  with  few  and  on  hearing  terms 
with  none.  He  went  through  college  very  much 
as  a  blind  man  would  go  through  an  art 
gallery,  and  graduated  just  in  time  to  receive  the 
blessing  of  his  departing  parents  (interpreted  to 
him  after  the  funeral),  and  to  come  into  possession 
of  an  income  large  enough  to  discourage  any 
improper  appetite  for  labor. 

As  Mr.  Littlejohn  Jenks  increased  in  years  and 
experience  he  decreased  in  hearing  and  confidence. 
While  his  money  and  his  gentle  birth  gave  to  him 
an  unquestioned  standing  in  society,  he  was  slow 
to  take  advantage  of  its  privileges,  and  slower  still 
to  trust  to  the  integrity  of  the  encouraging  smiles 
that  were  not  infrequently  lavished  upon  him  by 
the  mothers  of  marriageable  young  women.  From 
time  to  time  he  cherished  the  delusive  hope  that 
his  infirmity  might  be  cured,  and  occasionally  he 
fell  into  the  hands  of  specialists,  who  ran  long 
rods  up  his  nostrils  and  into  his  ears,  and  gouged 
his  palate,  and  applied  burning  and  torturesome 
chemicals  thereto,  until  what  little  nerve  he  had 
was  entirely  dissipated.  But,  beyond  the  recol 
lection  of  many  hours  of  agony  and  the  receipt  of  a 
large  and  comprehensive  bill,  there  were  no 
notable  results.  So  Mr.  Jenks  at  last  abandoned 


128  Tit?  Denf  Ear. 

hope  and    treatment  and   gave  himself  up  to  his 

fate. 

That  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Jenks's  means  and  per 
sonality,  whose  greatest  charm  was  a  most  alluring 
air  of  settled  melancholy,  should  he  allo \vecl  to  es 
cape  entirely  the  demands  of  society,  was  not  to  he 
entertained.  At  times  he  yielded  weakly  to  the 
efforts  made  for  his  ensnaring,  and  those  conces 
sions  were  always  the  bitterest  recollections  of  his 
life.  It  was  his  misfortune  to  patronize  a  dining 
over  which  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pentateuch  was  re 
quested  to  say  grace.  Perhaps  from  his  connec 
tion  with  the  English  church,  Mr.  Pentateuch  was 
accustomed  to  divide  his  blessings,  as  it  were,  into 
first  and  second  lessons.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Mr. 
Jenks,  in  his  anxiety  to  appear  thoroughly  at  his 
ease,  noticed  a  half-smile  on  the  pretty  face  of  his 
vis-a-vis,. and  reciprocated  with  a  look  of  such  in 
nocent  ardor  that  the  young  woman  was  thrown 
into  blushing  confusion.  Just  at  this  time  Mr. 
Pentateuch,  having  paused  in  deference  to  his  long 
established  custom,  was  proceeding  with  the  for 
mula  which  trusts  that  "these  viands  may  be 
sanctified  to  our  use,"  when,  to  the  unspeakable 
horror  of  the  company,  Mr.  Jenks  addressed  the 
young  woman  with  the  untimely  and  not  altogether 
original  observation,  "  A  penny  for  your  thoughts." 
The  indignation  of  the  clergyman  and  the  pain  of 
the  hostess  only  added  to  the  mirth  of  the  guests, 


The  Deaf  Ear.  129 

and  the  rest  of  the  grace  was  intelligible  to  the 
Deity  alone. 

It  was  also  Mr.  Jenks's  misfortune  to  be  seated 
invariably  next  to  the  visiting  young  lady,  who 
was  unaware  of  his  infirmity,  and  this  led  to  many 
unhappy  results.  As  long  as  Mr.  Jenks  could  do 
the  talking  he  was  reasonably  safe,  for  his  conver 
sation  dealt  exclusively  with  assertion  that  involved 
no  argument,  and  never  trenched  on  the  province 
of  the  interrogatory.  But  Mr.  Jenks  was  not  a 
gentleman  of  fluent  speech  or  surging  ideas,  and 
it  always  happened  that,  despite  his  most  arduous 
endeavors,  the  monologue  soon  languished.  As 
has  been  related,  Mr.  Jenks's  engaging  air  of  mel 
ancholy  often  \\oii  for  him  the  confidence  of  the 
ladies,  and  perhaps  this  is  why  Miss  Alsopp,  who 
was  placed  contiguous  to  the  deaf  ear,  felt  irresist 
ibly  impelled  to  communicate  to  him  the  harrow 
ing  tale  of  her  aunt,  who  had  lost  her  life  in  a 
burning  vessel  at  sea. 

"And  it  is  related  by  Doctor  Penfield,  one  of  the 
survivors,"  went  on  Miss  Alsopp,  "that  during 
that  dreadful  scene  my  aunt  did  not  lose  her 
equanimity.  Just  before  she  was  enveloped  by 
the  flames  she  cried  out  with  a  loud  voice,  like  the 
martyred  Stephen,  and  went  to  her  rest  singing 
one  of  the  sweet  songs  of  the  Christian  faith." 

Mr.  Jenks  had  heard  nothing  of  this  heart-rend 
ing  story,  but  he  gathered  from  the  smiles  of  hi -3 


130  The  Deaf  Ear. 

neighbor  on  the  right,  who  was  rallying  her  part 
ner,  that  the  tale  had  been  a  sprightly  one.  So  he 
leaned  back  and  laughed  heartily,  and  said :  "  Good, 
good,  very  neat ! "  The  look  of  horror  on  Miss 
Alsopp's  face  soon  gave  way  to  indignation.  She 
whispered  to  her  neighbor,  and  in  an  unduly 
short  time  it  had  spread  around  the  table  that 
Jenks  was  uproariously  drunk.  Not  until  Mr. 
Jenks  was  putting  on  his  overcoat  in  the  dressing- 
room  did  he  learn  the  particulars  of  his  error,  and 
by  that  time  the  offended  lady  had  demanded  the 
protection  of  a  loathsome  rival  and  disappeared. 

This  episode  so  weighed  on  Mr.  Jenks's  spirits 
that  never  thereafter  was  he  known  to  smile  in 
society.  As  he  confessed  in  his  diary,  he  took  no 
chances.  In  vain  the  company  joined  in  a  general 
burst,  in  vain  the  brightest  sallies  were  thrown  at 
him  fortissimo.  "It  won't  do,"  he  said,  with  a 
sad  shake  of  the  head  ;  "you  see,  by  the  time  I 
catch  the  joke  and  laugh,  the  company  may  be 
talking  about  religion  or  death,  and  I'm  sure  to 
get  the  worst  end  of  it.  It's  much  better  to  wait 
and  do  all  my  laughing  at  home."  Which  showed 
that  Jenks  possessed  the  kindest  heart  and  ten- 
derest  sensibilities. 

Mr.  Jenks's  besetting  weakness  was  music.  It 
was  considered  quite  a  Ion  mot  to  ask  Jenks  if  he 
was  going  to  see  the  concert.  Not  content  with 
patronizing  all  the  celebrities  of  the  day,  Mr.  Jenks 


The  Deaf  Ear.  131 

studied  the  flute  and  violin,  and  sometimes  yielded 
to  a  polite  request  to  play  in  company.  These  ex 
hibitions  were  purely  experimental,  for  Mr.  Jenks 
was  at  constant  warfare  with  his  accompanist,  both 
as  to  time  and  pitch,  and  produced  the  most  extraor 
dinary  effects  in  his  efforts  to  harmonize  instru 
ments  a  quarter  of  a  tone  apart,  But  as  the  com 
pany  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  Jenks's 
performance,  except  occasionally  to  execrate  it, 
and  went  on  with  its  conversation,  perfectly  satis 
fied  that  the  breach  of  etiquette  would  be  lost  on 
the  performer,  no  serious  consequences  resulted. 

So  the  years  went  by,  and  Mr.  Jenks  began  to 
experience  that  unsettled  feeling,  that  indefinable 
longing  and  loneliness  that  come  with  protracted 
bachelorhood.  His  companions  had  married  and 
prospered,  as  far  as  prosperity  can  come  with  mar 
riage.  He  had  officiated  as  attendant  at  weddings 
and  as  godfather  at  christenings,  until  a  genuine 
rivalry  had  sprung  up  between  him  and  his  rector. 

"  We  esteem  you  highly  in  the  parish,  my  dear 
Jenks,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Surplice;  "your 
conduct  is  generally  exemplary.  But  by  this  life  of 
singleness  you  deprive  a  girl  of  a  worthy  husband, 
you  neglect  one  of  God's  ordinances,  and  you  — 
ahem  — you  rob  me  of  what  ought  to  be  a  sub 
stantial  fee." 

This  clerical  reproof  set  Mr.  Jenks  to  thinking. 
He  confessed  his  loneliness  and  willingness  to 


132  The.  Deaf  Ear. 

embrace  matrimony  on  favorable  terms.  He  ad 
mitted  that,  while  lie  scouted  the  idea  so  fre 
quently  advanced,  that  two  can  live  as  cheaply  as 
one,  two  loving  hearts  can  spend  money  more 
profitably  than  one.  But  where  should  he  apply  ? 
He  ran  over  the  list  of  eligible  young  women  of 
his  acquaintance,  and  sighed  to  think  that  the  lot 
had  been  carefully  sorted  and  robbed  of  its  chief 
ornaments,  ^s'o,  stop  !  Agatha  Brown  remained. 
He  had  known  Agatha  since  she  was  a  little  blue- 
eyed,  waxen-cheeked  maiden  in  pinafores.  He  had 
followed  her  with  regular  remembrances  up 
through  the  candy,  peanut,  doll  stages,  beyond 
the  valentine  period,  even  to  the  Easter  ilower 
epoch.  He  had  noticed  that  Agatha  was  always 
considerate,  that  she  never  laughed  at  his  blunders, 
and,  come  to  think  of  it,  he  had  observed  lately  a 
disposition  on  her  part  to  blush  and  tremble  in  his 
presence.  The  more  vividly  he  recalled  those 
blushes  the  more  firmly  was  he  convinced  that 
Agatha  was  created  for  him  and  he  for  Agatha. 
Upon  these  hints,  like  the  swarthy  gentleman  in 
the  play,  he  spoke. 

"I  have  brought  myself  to  believe,  my  dear 
Agatha,"  said  Mr.  Jenks,  as  they  sat  in  the  little 
parlor,  from  which,  with  rare  instinct  and  acumen,, 
the  parents  had  withdrawn,  u  that  in  your  heart 
lurks  some  pity  for  niy  lonely  life.  I  feel,  as  does 
every  man  in  this  trying  moment,  that,  with  my 


The  Deaf  Ear.  133 

natural  handicap  and  my  lack  of  graces,  I  am 
unworthy  the  affection  of  a  good  and  pure  woman. 
But  at  least  I  am  a  man  of  means  and  am  free 
from  all  large  and  contaminating  vices.  I  love 
you,  and  I  have  taken  this  opportunity  of  asking 
you  to  share  my  lot  and  monopolize  my  time  and 
my  affections." 

Pending  this  speech  the  gentle  Agatha  blushed 
and  trembled  more  violently  than  usual,  and  at  its 
close  the  tears  that  rose  to  her  blue  eyes  gave  them 
the  appearance  of  violets  in  a  shower.  But,  like  a 
good  and  pure  woman,  she  regained  her  compo 
sure  with  marvelous  celerity. 

UI  will  not  disguise  from  you,  dear  Littlejohn," 
she  answered,  "  that  while  I  have  never  looked 
upon  you  as  a  future  husband,  I  have  always  been 
sensible  of  your  goodness,  and  have  envied  her  who 
might  gain  the  wealth  of  your  affections.  And  for 
this  reason  I  give  myself  Lo  you  with  all  hope  and 
confidence.  How  I  shall  endeavor  to  prove  worthy 
of  vour  great  love  you  may  trust  in  time  to  know." 
So  saying,  she  modestly  turned  away  her  head  and 
cast  down  her  eyes. 

Now  Mr.  Jenks,  recognizing  too  late  that  he 
had  unfortunately  placed  Agatha  in  juxtaposition 
to  his  bad  ear,  was  striving  by  every  means  to 
shift  his  location  and  to  comprehend  her  reply. 
But,  despite  his  most  tactical  efforts,  he  was  able 
to  catch  onlv  the  last  word,  "know,"  which, 


134  The  Deaf  Ear. 

through  the  criminally  perverse  orthoepy  .of  the 
English  language,  he  construed  into  a  negative, 
an  impression  greatly  heightened  by  the  young 
woman's  perceptible  air  of  pity  and  regret.  Mr. 
Jenks  was  a  man  of  pride,  and,  stunned  as  he  was, 
it  was  only  for  a  moment.  lie  hurst  into  a  cheery 
laugh,  and  said,  with  affected  jocularity  : 

"  Don't  he  downcast,  Agatha.  I  was  only  joking. 
It's  a  little  way  I  have.  It's  all  right,  even  if 
you  don't  love  me." 

Poor  Agatha  was  in  despair.  "  You  — you  don't 
understand,"  she  gasped,  and  then  she  stood  on 
her  toes  and  screamed  "  I  love  you,"  until  it  seemed 
as  if  the  entire  neighborhood  must  be  cognizant 
of  the  fact. 

"  That's  all  right  — all  right,"  replied  Mr..  Jenks  ; 
"I  don't  blame  you  a  bit.  And  the  more  I  think 
it  over  the  more  ridiculous  the  matter  strikes  me." 

Mr.  Jenks  by  this  time  was  in  the  hall,  putting 
on  his  overcoat,  while  Agatha,  struggling  with 
baffled  love  and  tears  and  rage,  was  close  behind, 
reiterating  her  affection  with  maidenly  saving 
clauses. 

"Good  night,  Agatha," said  Mr.  Jenks,  magnan 
imously  ;  "forget  our  little  joke  and  be  a  sister  to 
rne." 

Twenty-four  hours  later  the  blue-eyed  maiden, 
in  pique  and  desperation,  accepted  a  proposition 
from  a  commercial  traveler  for  a  grocery  house, 


The  Deaf  Ear.  135 

and  after  the  wedding  bells  had  pealed  Mr.  Jenks 
heard,  with  throbs  of  anguish,  the  true  story  of 
his  luckless  courtship. 

Time  soothes  all  griefs,  and  Mr.  Jenks,  albeit  he 
had  withdrawn  from  society  and  its  empty  pleas 
ures,  became  reconciled  to  the  mysterious  ways  of 
Providence.  The  gentle  Agatha,  at  the  sugges 
tion  of  her  husband  and  in  deference  to  his  family 
name  and  pride,  had  presented  to  the  commercial 
traveler  two  little  images  of  herself,  and  as  Mr. 
Jenks  saw  them  playing  with  their  dolls  and  run 
ning  to  meet  their  worthy  but  unsentimental  sire, 
his  heart  was  stirred  by  strange  emotions.  "  Shall 
I,"  he  reasoned  to  himself,  "because  of  one  bitter 
and  terrible  mistake,  longer  endure  this  wretched 
and  monotonous  existence  ?  Shall  I  not  show  this 
presumptuous  drummer  that  I  too  have  paternal 
instincts,  which  may  be  gratified  by  the  cultivation 
of  -a  respectful  attachment  and  by  the  exercise  of 
a  little  patience  ?" 

The  object  of  Mr.  Jenks's  second  endeavor  was 
a  vivacious  young  lady,  in  temperament  and 
charms  very  unlike  the  blue-eyed  Agatha.  Not 
disinclined  to  flirt,  and  seeing  in  Mr.  Jenks  a  suit 
able  mark  for  her  seductive  batteries,  she  led  him 
on  by  feminine  arts  until  one  evening,  strolling 
sentimentally  along  the  river  bank,  he  repeated  to 
her  the  formula  which  five  years  before  he  had 
tried  with  such  embarrassing  results.  Notwith- 


136  The  Deaf  Ear. 

standing  her  merry  words,  Miss  Daisy  —  she  was  a 
true  Missouri  girl  — had  a  kind  heart,  and  was 
visibly  affected  by  Mr.  Jcnks's  earnestness.  Her 
agitation  increased  as  she  reflected  on  the  conse 
quences  of  her  levity,  and,  although  she  assured 
Mr.  Jenks  that  she  "could  never,  never  be  his 
wife,"  a  sympathetic  tear  of  remorse  stole  down 
her  cheek.  According  to  usage,  Mr.  Jenks  did  not 
succeed  in  catching  a  word  of  the  pronunciamento 
of  rejection,  but,  remembering  his  former  error 
and  seeing  her  tears  and  confusion,  caught  her  to 
his  breast  and  imprinted  passionate  kisses  on  her 
hair  and  cheek  and  mouth,  wherever  they  chanced 
to  fall.  The  frightened  girl  screamed  lustily,  and 
a  policeman  rushing  up,  and  spying  a  struggling 
maid  in  the  arms  of  a  desperate  villain,  brought 
Mr.  Jenks  to  the  ground  by  a  few  well-directed 
blows  from  his  insigne  of  office.  For  ten  minutes 
there  was  a  commingling  of  hysterics  and  expla.na- 
tions  and  official  skepticism,  but  at  last,  the  young 
lady  interceding,  Mr.  Jenks  was  allowed  to  depart, 
and  the  heroine  was  escorted  to  her  home  under 
police  protection. 

This  second  contretemps  was  too  much  for  Mr. 
Jenks's  nerves.  He  withdrew  permanently  from 
society,  engaged  a  housekeeper  of  austere  visage 
and  impregnable  and  unquestioned  morality,  and 
gave  himself  up  to  the  cultivation  of  flowers  and 
the  gentle  arts.  Late  at  night  the  youths  and 


The  Deaf  Ear.  137 

maidens,  returning  from  their  evening  pleasure, 
could  hear  the  melancholy  notes  of  his  flute  or  the 
sad  strains  of  his  violin,  and  why  they  crossed  the 
street  at  that  particular  point  was  always  chari 
tably  suppressed.  But  Mr.  Jenks's  life  was  not 
the  less  worthy  and  beautiful  because  he  was 
deprived,  in  so  sorrowful  a  measure,  of  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  senses.  He  delighted  in  good 
works,  helped  the  poor  and  the  needy,  comforted 
the  afflicted,  and  cheerfully  accepted  all  the  spon- 
sorial  responsibilities  which  were  thrust  upon  him, 
and  they  were  many.  He  was  "uncle"  to  half 
the  children  in  the  town,  and  at  Christmas  time 
the  most  extraordinary  boxes  and  mysterious  pack 
ages  \vere  smuggled  in  and  out  of  the  house,  while 
Mr.  Jcnks  could  be  observed  running  to  and  fro 
in  a  state  of  nervous  excitement. 

As  his  hair  whitened  and  the  furrows  showed 
more  plainly  in  his  face,  Mr.  Jenks's  responsibili 
ties,  ex  officio,  increased.  Agatha's  two  little  girls 
had  grown  up  and  had  two  or  more  little  girls  of 
their  own,  and  over  them  the  deaf  old  gentleman, 
with  capacious  pockets  in  which  confections  and 
oranges  always  lurked,  exercised  the  privileged 
sway  of  "grandfather."  And  it  was  a  happy  sight 
to  see  the  old  man  followed  by  a  troop  of  laughing 
children,  pretending  to  be  angry  with  them  for' 
"making  so  much  noise,"  and  slily  slipping  bon 
bons  into  their  hands  and  dropping  peanuts  ami 


138  The- Deaf  Ear. 

almonds  out  of  his  pocket  that  they  might  excite 
a  scramble  and  more  noise. 

At  last  Mr.  Jenks  succumbed  to  the  ravages  of 
time,  and  took  to  his  bed.  Disease  made  rapid  in 
roads  on  his  enfeebled  constitution,  and  it  was 
mournfully  whispered  about  town  that  "old  Jenks 
had  to  go."  In  this  emergency  the  new  minister 
perceived  his  duty,  and  went  to  the  old  man's  bed 
side  to  administer  those  consolations  that  are  the 
rightful  property  of  the  church.  As  he  took  his 
station  at  the  left  of  the  bed,  Mr.  Jenks,  failing 
to  catch  the  features  of  his  visitor,  conceived  him 
to  be  one  of  the  physicians,  for  whom,  as  a  class, 
he  had  the  most  profound  contempt.  The  new 
minister  was  saying  : 

"  In  this  hour  of  travail,  my  departing  friend,  I 
may  hope  that  you  have  learned  to  rely  on  the 
glorious  promises  of  the  Word,  and  that  from  the 
precious  book  you  have  been  drawn  to  the  Great 
Physician,  who  healeth  all  our  infirmities  and 
maketh  us  well." 

"Makes  what  well?"  snapped  Mr.  Jenks,  who 
had  caught  only  the  concluding  words.  "  I  took 
the  blamed  stuff  three  times  yesterday,  and  I'm 
worse  to-day."  And  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall,  requesting  the  nurse  to  show  the  man  out. 
But  the  new  minister,  however  shocked  by  the  appa 
rent  wickedness  of  the  dying  man,  lingered  on  the 
threshold  and  offered  up  a  fervent  petition  for  the 


The  Deaf  Ear.  139 

pardon  and  conversion  of  the  blaspheming  infidel. 
And  now  occurred  a  most  singular  and  impress 
ive  phenomenon.  When  the  doctor  came  and 
looked  at  the  patient  with  his  experienced  eye,  he 
said:  ''lie  will  live  three  hours.1'  At  the  end  of 
that  time  there  was  apparently  no  change.  An 
imprudent  friend,  putting  himself  in  communica 
tion  with  the  good  ear,  related  what  the  physician 
had  predicted,  and  congratulated  him  on  the  hope 
ful  nature  of  his  symptoms  in  weathering  the 
crisis.  Mr.  Jenks  made  no  reply,  but  turned  over 
and  quietly  passed  away.  In  an  able  essay,  read 
before  the  medical  society,  the  physician  contended 
that  the  prolongation  of  Mr.  Jenks's  life  was  due 
entirely  to  a  misunderstanding  ;  that  he  had  stood 
near  the  patient's  deaf  car  when  he  made  the  diag 
nosis  and  the  prediction,  and  that  to  this  circum 
stance  only  must  be  attributed  the  temporary  fail 
ure  of  medical  science  and  the  reversal  of  medical 
precedent.  Therefore  he  maintained  that  a  deaf 
ear,  while  not  an  infallible  preventive  of  death,  is 
often  a  helpful  factor  in  prolonging  human  life, 
and  is  a  fit  subject  for  the  most  careful  and  ex 
haustive  experiments  when  the  patient  is  appar 
ently  in  articulo  mortis.  This  essay  created  a 
great  sensation  in  medical  circles.  Scientific  jour 
nals  took  it  up,  foreign  academies  discussed  it,  and 
the  International  Society  of  Physicians  and  Sur 
geons  sent  a  complimentary  letter  to  the  writer 


140  The  Deaf  Ear. 

thanking  him  for  his  efforts  and  his  discovery  in 
the  field  of  science. 

As  Mr.  Jenks's  friends  gathered  around  his  bier 
and  looked  upon  his  peaceful  face,  it  was  suggested, 
not  irreverently  but  with  real  solicitude,  that  his 
right  ear  should  be  a  little  elevated,  that  when 
Gabriel  blew  the  trump  the  other  inhabitants  of 
the  churchyard  might  not  have  an  unfair  advan 
tage.  And  when  all  the  others  had  gone  out, 
Agatha,  now  a  widow  and  a  grandmother,  with 
little  white  curls  that  peeped  out  of  her  cap,  and 
with  eyes  that  still  retained  their  violet  blue, 
lingered  a  moment,  just  long  enough  to  give  one 
fond  look  and  to  whisper,  "  I  love  you,"  as  she  had 
said  it  many  years  before. 

The  new  minister,  still  smarting  under  a  recol 
lection  of  the  blasphemous  scene  in  the  sick-cham 
ber,  delivered  a  powerful  address  on  the  uncer 
tainty  of  life  and  the  necessity  of  preparation. 
But  when  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the  grave  the 
mothers  led  the  children  a  little  nearer,  and  with 
their  infant  hands  they  heaped  roses  and  forget- 
me-nots  and  immortelles  upon  the  casket,  the 
tributes  of  three  generations  to  the  old  friend. 
And  what  they  said  of  the  dead  he  living  could 
not  have  heard  without  a  protesting  blush.  And 
how  they  spoke  of  him  and  praised  him  in  their 
homes  that  night  must  have  warmed  that  deaf  ear 
as  it  lav  so  cold  and  still  beneath  the  flowers. 


THE  CONFESSION  OF  A  CRIME. 


Dowx  in  one  of  the  central  counties  of  Missouri., 
in  the  heart  of  the  great  corn-belt,  pretty  Lucy 
Howard  was  '''raised."  That  she  certainly  was 
"  raised  "  is  not  to  be  disputed,  for  she  is  authority 
for  the  expression,  and  can,  if  necessary,  bring  up 
a  formidable  array  of  kinfolk  and  neighbors  to 
prove  the  assertion.  Lucy's  father  lived  in  one  of 
the  older  towns  of  this  section  of  Missouri,  which, 
for  one  reason  or  another,  has  escaped  the  immi 
gration  and  other  contaminating  influences  which, 
in  a  measure,  have  afflicted  the  border  counties. 
Therefore  society,  despite  the  ravages  of  war,  is  in 
a  settled  and  placid  state,  and  resembles  more 
closely  the  better  condition  of  things  in  the  old 
South.  Here  the  Missourian  attains  his  greatest 
courtliness,  and  life  is  characterized  by  the  warm 
est  hospitality.  And  here  the  girls,  rounded  and 
rosy-cheeked,  develop  into  the  most  beautiful 
womanhood,  with  all  the  charms  and  graces  and 
soft  speech  of  the  Southern  clime. 

Colonel  Howard  was  a  Southerner  by  birth,  in 
association  and  in  every  instinct.  lie  had  been  a 
fire-eater,  a  rebel  and  a  Democrat  since  early  man- 


144  The  Confewiou.  of  a  Crime. 

hood,  and  lie  was  proud  of  it.  He  was  also  inclined 
to  indolence,  the  result  of  paternal  inheritance,  and 
he  was  not  ashamed  of  that,  for  your  true  old- 
school  Missouri  gentleman  has  fixed  and  stern  ideas 
concerning  the  elevating  quality  of  labor.  "  This 
constant  digging  and  delving,"  said  the  Colonel,  in 
one  of  his  many  leisure  moments  ;  "  this  perpetual 
striving  after  money  or  rushing  after  a  temporary 
gain,  makes  us  a  nation  of  dyspeptic  Yankees  and 
destroys  all  the  finer  and  nobler  impulses  of  an  old 
and  tranquil  civilization." 

Lucy,  naturally,  grew  up  under  languorous  con 
ditions,  which,  however,  took  nothing  from  her 
beauty  or  her  amiability  and  gentleness  of  charac 
ter.  Perhaps  the  stern  tenets  of  the  Christian,  or 
Campbellite,  Church,  to  which  her  family  Avas 
attached,  had  left  an  impress  on  her  mind  in  its 
formative  period,  and  had  given  her  that  stern 
conscientiousness  which  so  marked  her  rule  of 
life.  In  early  girlhood  she  had  gone  to  a  sec 
tarian  college,  where  the  girls  wore  ridiculous  uni 
forms  and  praised  the  Lord  two  or  three  times  a 
day  for  the  pious  work  of  Alexander  Campbell, 
and  never  conversed  with  a  man,  save  on  an  occa 
sional  Saturday  night,  under  the  most  distressing 
conditions. 

But  nothing  could  mar  Lucy's  beauty  or  destroy 
the  contentment  of  her  disposition.  And  when, 
every  Sunday  morning,  her  sweet  face  peeped  out 


The  Confession  of  a  Crime.  145 

under  the  college  sun-bonnet,,  and  her  beautiful 
voice  rose  above  all  others  in  the  choir  chamber, 
the  reason  of  the  great  outpouring  of  the  young 
men  was  clear.  For  everybody  in  the  sanctuary 
turned  to  look  at  Lucy,  and  all  the  young  fellows 
sighed  for  her  day  of  graduation.  Robert  Calla- 
way  said  not  a  word,  for  he  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  summer  vacation  to  gather  Lucy  unto  him 
self,  and  like  two  orderly  and  well-conducted 
young  people  they  reveled  discreetly  in  their 
promises  of  love,  and  bided  their  time. 

So  Robert  went  off  to  the  city  to  guide  and  in 
struct  the  masses  from  the  noble  standpoint  of  a 
journalist.  And  Lucy  retired  to  her  father's 
house  and  bloomed  with  the  roses  in  the  sum 
mer  and  the  hyacinths  in  the  winter,  and  culti 
vated  and  exercised  her  glorious  voice  until  all  the 
mocking-birds  were  distracted  with  vexation  and 
envy.  And  she  waited  very  patiently  for  Robert, 
and  calmly  rebuked  numerous  presumptuous  ad 
mirers  for  impertinent  offers  of  marriage.  And 
Robert  wrote  regularly  and  cheerfully  from  the 
city,  and  one  day  the  bird  sang  in  her  heart  with 
tin  unusual  caroling,  for  Robert  telegraphed  that 
he  had  obtained  a  "scoop  "  on  his  loathsome  con 
temporary,  and  was  in  high  favor  with  the  gentle 
man  whose  most  painful  duty  it  was,  occasionally, 
to  raise  salaries. 

But  an  end  comes  to  all  periods  of  waiting,  ami 


14G  The  Confession  of  a  Crime. 

one  fine  night  in  late  October  the  Colonel's  old 
house  was  lighted  up  from  cellar  to  garret,  and 
friends  and  neighbors  poured  into  the  great  parlor,, 
while  the  darkies  were  rushing  about  in  excite 
ment,  savory  smells  issued  from  the  kitchen,  and 
the  popping  of  corks  was  heard  in  the  second 
story  back.  And  in  front  of  the  piano  stood  Lucy, 
looking  like  a  Vestal  virgin  in  her  robe  of  white, 
with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks,  and  just  the  faintest 
twitching  of  her  pretty  mouth,  and  tears  of  moist 
ure  in  her  blue  eyes.  And  she  was  telling  Robert, 
who  clasped  her  hand,  something  that  has  been 
told  many  times  before  and  will  continue  to  be  told 
long  after  these  generations  have  passed  away. 

Back  they  went  to  the  city,  and  Robert,  who  was 
now  on  confidential  and  easy  terms  with  that  great 
man,  the  cashier  of  the  Independent,  fitted  up  a 
comfortable  home  which  bespoke  much  love  and 
happiness.  And  in  the  main  they  lived  like  turtle 
doves,  with  those  occasional  honest  differences  of 
opinion  which  afflict  all  good  married  folk.  For 
Robert's  journalistic  training  had  led  him  into  devi 
ous  wrays,  and  had  bestowed  upon  him  a  proud  and 
haughty  mind,  so  that,  when  Lucy  would  gently 
prod  him  as  to  his  religious  duties  on  the  holy 
Sabbath  morn,  he  would  occasionally  rebel  and 
flippantly  remark  that  he  had  "forgotten  more 
than  Aleck  Campbell  ever  knew."  Whereat  the 
great  tears  would  well  up  into  Lucy's  eyes,  and  in 


Tlie  Confession  of  a  Crime.  147 

the  end  Robert,  who  had  a  kind  heart,  would  be  a 
heavy  financial  sufferer  by  reason  of  his  irrever 
ence.  And  at  times  the  domestic  would  take  unto 
herself  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  Lucy  would 
be  compelled  to  go  into  the  kitchen.  These  were 
the  sun-spots  of  their  married  life,  for  when  Lucy 
did  not  forget  to  put  the  baking-powder  in  the  bis 
cuits,  she  committed  other  and  more  serious  indis 
cretions,  with  the  result  that  her  meals,  as  Robert 
genially  expressed  it,  partook  of  the  nature  of 
burnt  offerings,  as  became  a  Christian  household. 
But  with  all  their  petty  trials,  they  lived  very  hap 
pily,  and  the  increased  breadth  and  vigor  of  the 
tone  of  the  Independent  bore  witness  to  Robert's 
enlarged  scope. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  their  mar 
ried  life,  Robert,  having  been  gently  reminded  by 
the  pious  Lucy  that  it  was  Wednesday  evening, 
suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  a  most  pressing 
engagement  at  the  office,  one  that  under  no  cir 
cumstances  would  admit  even  an  hour's  postpone 
ment.  The  gentle  girl  sighed  as  he  reached  for 
his  hat  and  cane,  and  believed  him  implicitly 
when  he  kissed  her  and,  in  respectful  language, 
cursed  the  claims  of  business  that  took  him  away 
from  the  hour  of  prayer.  But  after  he  had  gone, 
and  she  had  heard  him  madly  whistling  and 
shouting  as  he  dashed  for  a  doAvn-town  car,  she 
went  to  the  piano  and  sang  a  few  holy  songs  to 


148  The  Confession  of  a   Crime. 

put  her  mind  in  a  calm  and  religiously  receptive 
state.  Then  she  called  next  door  for  her  neigh 
bor  and  old  girl  friend,  Mrs.  Boone,  whose  hus 
band  had  likewise  been  mysteriously  summoned  to 
the  office,  and  together  those  two  exemplary 
women  journeyed  to  the  house  of  worship. 

Now  it  chanced  that  evening  that  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Moniteau  delivered  his  first  discourse  of  a  series  of 
lectures  on  the  duties  of  wives.  Having  buried 
three,  this  excellent  man  was  abundantly  able  to 
grasp  his  subject  intelligently  and  to  present  it 
with  forcefulness.  "I  ask  you,  my  dear  sisters," 
he  said  ;  —  he  started  to  say  brothers  and  sisters, 
but  caught  himself,  as  there  were  no  brothers 
present  —  "I  ask  you  if  you  have  been  true  to 
your  husbands  in  thought  as  well  as  deed.  Have 
you  given  to  them  the  confidence  and  the  love 
that  should  exist  at  all  times  between  husband  and 
wife  ?  I  think  that  perhaps  I  may  see  before  me 
at  this  moment  a  wife  who  has  been  derelict  in  this 
precious  duty.  Perhaps  she  is  young  and  impul 
sive  and  thoughtless,  and  thinks  that  her  little  sins 
of  omission  and  commission  are  too  trifling  to  be 
told  to  the  man  whom  she  has  vowed  to  love, 
honor  and  obey.  Ah,  my  dear  sisters,  do  not  fall 
into  this  grievous  error.  Remember  that  you  may 
have  no  secrets  from  your  husband.  Remember 
that  he  is  entitled  to  know  your  innermost  heart. 
If  there  rests  in  your  mind  to-night,  sister,  any 


The  Confession  of  a  Crime.  149 

little  error,  however  trifling,  you  may  have  with 
held  from  him,  go  to  him,  throw  yourself  upon 
his  breast  and  say  :  '  My  husband,  I  come  to  you 
in  love  and  confidence  like  a  little  child  to  its  father. 
I  have  kept  back  from  you  a  fault.  Let  me  tell  it 
and  know  that  it  is  not  treasured  up  against  me.' 
And  trust,  dear  sister,  to  his  great  affection  and 
forgiving  love." 

Poor  Lucy  occupied  a  seat  directly  in  front  of 
the  speaker.  It  had  happened  in  his  godless  days, 
before  the  light  slimed  round  about  him,  journey 
ing,  as  it  were,  to  Damascus,  that  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Monitean  had  acquired  a  glass  eye.  This  eye 
rested  on  Lucy  with  such  fixed  and  awful  inten 
sity  that  she  fell  ail  of  a  tremble,  and  her  little 
heart  thumped  against  her  ribs  with  the  anguish 
of  an  unpuncturcd  felon.  And  at  that  moment 
the  ghost  of  an  unexpected  crime  rose  up  before 
her,  and  the  thought  was  so  horrible  that  she 
almost,  screamed  out  in  meeting,  and  so  dread 
ful  was  the  remembrance  that  she  was  entirely  un 
able  to  join  in  the  congregational  singing  which 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Monitean  led  in  particularly  strident 
tones. 

As  they  walked  home  together  Lucy  said,  timidly: 

"  Gertrude,  what  do  you  think  of  Dr.  Moniteau's 
advice  ?  " 

"Think  ?"  snapped  Mrs.  Boone.  "I  think  it's 
all  bosh.  That's  what  I  think." 


150  The  Confession  of  a  Crime. 

"But,  Gertrude,"  interposed  Lucy,  "oughtn't 
we  to  tell  our  husbands  everything?" 

Mrs.  Boone  wheeled  around.  "Now  look  here, 
Lucy  Callaway,  don't  you  make  any  mistakes  in 
the  first  year  of  your  married  life.  Do  you  sup 
pose  your  husband  tells  you  all  his  escapades  ?  Do 
you  suppose  I'm  going  to  sit  up  every  night  for  a 
month  while  John  Boone  goes  over  the  story  of 
his  ante-nuptial  misdeeds  —  granting  that  he'd  be 
fool  enough  to  tell  me  ?  When  he  reeled  off  that 
clumsy  story  about  an  f  engagement '  to-night, 
didn't  I  know  that  it  was  merely  an  excuse  to  get 
out  of  going  to  prayer-meeting  ?  I  shall  tell  him 
so  too,  to-morrow,  but  not  to-night,  for  that  would 
spoil  botli  our  evenings." 

"'I  can't  answer  for  Mr.  Boone,"  said  Lucy, 
decisively,  "but  Robbie  would  never  deceive  me." 

Mrs.  Boone  looked  at  the  girl  compassionately. 
"You're  a  good  girl,  Lucy,"  she  said;  "I  don't 
know  a  better.  But  take  my  advice  and  don't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"Nevertheless,"  answered  Lucy,  firmly,  as  the 
ghost  rose  up  again,  "  I  shall  examine  my  heart 
to-night,  and  if  I  find  any  secret  there  I  shall  tell 
Robbie  at  once." 

However,  when  Robert  came  home  and  reported 
the  cares  and  vexations  of  the  office  with  more 
than  his  customary  fervor,  Lucy's  courage  failed 
her.  After  all,  it  would  be  much  better  to  make 


The  Confession  of  a  Crime.  151 

the  confession  in  the  morning,  when  her  nerves 
were  more  composed  and  when  her  husband, 
refreshed  by  slumber,  would  be  in  better  condition 
to  bear  up  under  the  revelation.  But  in  the  morn 
ing  the  conditions  were  even  more  unfavorable. 
Breakfast  was  late  and  Robert  was  querulous. 
Plainly  it  was  no  time  to  precipitate  a  crisis,  and 
the  gentle  Lucy  confessed  a  feeling  of  relief  when 
her  husband  left  the  house  and  a  stay  of  execution 
was  granted. 

In  the  evening  a  social  dissipation  at  a  neigh 
bor's  interfered.  The  next  day  Robert  went  out 
of  town  on  business,  and  so  the  matter  ran  along 
for  a  week.  When  Wednesday  night  came  around 
Robert  was  caught  napping.  He  had  arranged 
with  a  friend  at  the  office  to  call  for  him  in  great 
haste  a  little  after  seven  o'clock ;  but  the  friend 
had  overlooked  the  appointment,  and,  as  no  reason 
able  excuse  presented,  Robert  put  on  the  best  face 
possible  and  went  to  Doctor  Moniteau's  second  lect 
ure.  The  Doctor  emphasized  his  previous  address, 
and  his  glass  eye  caught  Lucy  early  in  the  action, 
and  held  her  fast.  The  ordeal  was  even  more  try 
ing  than  the  first  awakening  of  conscience.  And 
to  add  to  the  discomfort  of  the  poor  girl  Robert 
said,  with  affected  solemnity,  before  they  went  to 
bed  that  night :  "Lucy,  I  hope  you  will  profit  by 
Brother  Moniteau's  observations.  Remember  that 


152-  The  Confession  of  a  Crime. 

a  wife  should  have  no  secrets  from  her  husband. 
Repent  and  confess  before  it  is  too  late." 

The  days  that  followed  were  like  torture  to  the 
young  wife.  A  dozen  times  she  was  on  the  point 
of  throwing  herself  on  Robert's  manly  breast, 
but  something  invariably  came  up  to  thwart  her. 
In  the  afternoon,  while  Robert  was  down  town, 
she  would  have  a  sort  of  rehearsal,  the  pillow  on  the 
sofa  representing  Robbie.  But  the  pillow  was  so 
obdurate,  its  wrath  so  terrible,  and  its  invective  so 
relentless,  that  Lucy  was  completely  annihilated, 
and  when  her  husband  came  home  she  was  glad 
enough  to  keep  up  her  life  of  deception,  and  to 
welcome  the  living  presence  in  place  of  its  inani 
mate  avenger. 

At  the  third  lecture  the  malevolence,  the  ter 
rors,  the  offended  majesty  of  the  glass  eye  were 
simply  beyond  endurance.  It  burned  into  Lucy's 
soul  and  seemed  to  leave  a  deep  opening  through 
which  all  might  see  her  wicked  heart.  She  bowed 
her  head  in  the  pew  and  wept  scalding  tears  of 
shame  and  remorse.  And  when  she  left  the 
sanctuary  her  mind  was  fully  made  up  ;  she  would 
confess  —  the  next  day. 

When  morning  came  she  was  much  comforted  to 
find  that  her  resolution  was  unshaken.  "But," 
the  devil  whispered  to  her,  "  there  is  no  sense  in 
doing  this  thing  hastily  and  blunderingly.  Tact  is 
a  woman's  best  weapon.  It  is  all  right  to  confess. 


The  Confession  <>f  <i  Crime.  153 

but  proper  means  of  preservation  and  defense  are 
always  allowable."  fcjo  Lucy  allowed  .Robert  to 
escape,  and  fixed  that  evening  for  the  revelation 
that  might  make  her  a  widow  or  a  corpse. 

All  day  long,  in  conjunction  with  the  devil,  she 
made  her  preparations  to  mitigate  the  horrors  of 
the  evening.  She  put  deft  little  artistic  touches 
all  over  the  house,  placed  the  new  center-piece 
on  the  dining-room  table,  and  filled  the  flower-jar 
with  roses.  Then  she  tied  up  a  bunch  of  pansies 
with  a  love-knot  and  laid  them  near  Robert's 
plate,  for  Robert  was  very  partial  to  pansies.  And 
she  went  into  the  kitchen  and  superintended  and 
accomplished  marvels  of  cookery :  spring  chicken 
fried  to  a  turn,  with  rich  cream  gravy;  such  beaten 
biscuits  as  were  never  before  seen  in  the  city ; 
luscious  corn-bread  that  she  had  heard  him  say 
his  mother  used  to  make  ;  the  freshest  and  best 
vegetables  in  the  market ;  a  strawberry  short 
cake  that  was  simply  incomparable,  and  coffee 
that  gave  out  a  delicious  perfume  a  block  away. 
And  she  even  took  ten  cents  from  her  private 
funds  and  bought  him  a  nice  cigar  at  the  grocery, 
the  groceryinan  assuring  her  that  it  was  good 
enough  for  the  President.  And  at  five  o'clock  she 
went  to  her  room  and  put  on  her  red  China  silk, 
which  Robert  admired  so  much,  and  which,  cut 
low  around  the  neck,  showed  off  her  beautiful 
throat  and  revealed  her  exquisite  arms.  And  she 


154  The  Confession  of  a  Crime. 

hung  around  her  neck  the  gold  chain  and  heart 
which  Robert  had  given  her  when  they  were  lovers 
in  the  old  Missouri  town.  And,  all  preparations 
being  completed,  she  plumped  down  on  her  knees 
and  asked  God  to  give  her  strength  for  her  task. 

\Vhen  Robert  came  home  he  was  visibly  moved 
by  the  evidences  of  wifeliness.  He  complimented 
the  appearance  of  the  house,  admired  the  roses, 
and  pinned  the  pansies  on  his  coat.  As  for  the 
dinner,  he  vowed  it  was  a  dream,  and  when  he  had 
finished  his  second  piece  of  shortcake  he  went 
over. and  took  Lucy's  face  in  his  hands  and  kissed 
her,  and  said,  feelingly: 

"My  dear  little  wife,  how  pretty  you  are  to 
night  ! " 

And  Lucy  turned  away  that  he  might  not  notice 
the  tears  that  rose  to  her  eyes,  while  he  took 
advantage  of  the  moment  to  slip  the  President's 
cigar  into  his  coat-tail  pocket  and  to  substitute 
one  of  his  own  in  its  stead. 

They  went  into  the  library,  and  Robert,  being  in 
that  boastful  stage  that  comes  to  a  man  after  a 
hearty  dinner,  complacently  read  to  his  wife  the 
proof-sheets  of  his  great  article  on  the  influence  of 
arehaeologic  research  among  the  Zunis.  And 
although  Lucy  constantly  labored  under  the  im 
pression  that  Zunis  were  in  some  way  connected 
with  Doctor  Kane  and  Sir  John  Franklin,  she 
listened  with  devouring  interest,  and  kissed  him 


The  Confess  ion  of  a  Crime.  155 

whenever  he  looked  as  if  he  had  made  a  particu 
larly  good  point.  And  as  he  looked  that  way 
particularly  often  she  was  more  or  less  constantly 
employed.  Then  she  sat  down  at  the  piano  and 
sang  all  her  prettiest  songs,  as  only  she  could  sing 
them;  songs  of  love  and  broken  hearts  and  little 
barks  on  the  ocean  and  little  birds  in  the  nests, 
and  a  hundred  other  things  connected  with  the 
idealities  of  a  perfectly  lovely  existence.  And 
Robert  leaned  back  in  his  big  arm-chair,  and 
looked  so  happy  and  so  contented  that  Lucy  said 
to  herself,  in  the  extremity  of  her  grief  :  "I  can't 
tell  him  now  !  I  can't  tell  him  now  I " 

At  last  Robert  said:  "Let's  call  it  a  day/' 
which  was  his  customary  way  of  announcing  that 
it  was  bedtime.  So  he  departed  to  his  chamber, 
whistling  a  merry  air  that  showed  his  heart  was 
light  and  his  conscience  free.  But  Lucy  remained 
behind  with  her  secret  and  her  sorrow,  and 
wrestled  with  herself,  for  she  knew  the  hour  of 
confession  was  at  hand.  And  presently  Robert 
returned,  for  he  had  forgotten  to  look  after  the 
back  windows,  put  out  the  gas  in  the  dining-room, 
wind  the  clock  and  perform  other  functions  which 
the  Zunis  fortunately  escaped.  He  was  in  his 
night-robe. 

Now  a  man  in  his  robe  of  night  is  not  a  pleas 
ing  spectacle.  The  artistic  world  is  a  unit  on  that 
point.  Lucy,  whose  temperament  was  entirely 


156  The  Confession  of  a  Crime. 

artistic,  had  often  deplored  the  conventionality  of 
fashion  that  shortens  a  gentleman's  sleeping-gar 
ment  to  a  degree  bordering  on  the  scandalous,  and 
had  often  threatened  to  ornament  Robert's  gowns 
with  tucks  and  frills  and  other  purely  feminine 
accessories.  But  this  night  she  was  occupied  with 
her  grief  to  the  exclusion  of  all  inartistic  views. 
She  only  thought:  "How  noble,  how  manly  he 
looks  !  How  can  I  bring  myself  to  forfeit  my 
darling's  love!"  And  Robert  was  meanwhile 
stubbing  his  toe  on  the  stairs  and  writhing  with 
pain  and  an  explosion  of  unprintable  language, 
utterly  unconscious  of  these  tributes  to  his  manli 
ness,  his  nobility  and  his  qualifications  as  a  darling. 
It  had  been  Lucy's  intention  to  follow  as  literally 
as  possible  the  excellent  instructions  of  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Moniteau.  But  her  preparations  were  so  ex 
haustive,  and  her  second  and  final  petition  for 
sustaining  strength  was  so  protracted,  that  Robert 
had  traveled  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  distance  to 
the  land  of  unconsciousness  before  she  could  bring 
herself  to  the  point  of  claiming  his  attention. 
And  even  then  she  was  embarrassed  by  the  dis 
covery  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  throw  herself 
on  his  breast  as  she  had  contemplated,  for  he  was 
reposing  with  his  face  on  the  outer  edge  of  the 
bed,  rendering  such  proceeding  not  only  ridic 
ulous  but  impracticable.  She  found  also,  to  her 
horror,  that  in  her  agitation  she  had  entirely  for- 


The  Confession  of  a  Crime.  157 

gotten  the  ministerial  formula,  and  was  compelled 
to  fall  back  on  her  own  resources  to  bear  her  over 
the  crisis.  She  nerved  herself,  shut  her  eyes  and 
said : 

"  Robbie  ! " 

A  stifled  grunt  gave  the  assurance  that  Robert 
was,  in  a  measure,  awake  to  the  importance  of  the 
occasion. 

"Robbie,  I've  been  wanting  to  tell  you  some 
thing  for  a  long,  long  time.  It  has  been  on  my 
mind  constantly,  but  we  have  been  so  happy  to 
gether  that  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  tell  you.  I 
knew  I  was  doing  wrong,  but  I  didn't  know  how 
wicked  and  deceitful  it  was  until  I  heard  Doctor 
Moniteau's  lecture  on  the  duties  of  a  wife.  And, 
Robbie,  you  know  you  told  me  yourself  that  a  wife 
should  have  no  secrets  from  her  husband,  so,  if  I 
am  going  to  give  you  pain,  dear,  it  is  partly  because 
I  am  obeying  your  command.  You  have  always 
said  that  it  made  you  happy  to  think  that  you  were 
my  first  sweetheart  —  and  you  were.  Robbie,  in 
deed  you  were.  I  never  cared  for  any  man  but 
you,  and  I  know  I  should  never  have  married  any 
body  if  I  had  never  met  you.  But  of  course  I 
couldn't  help  it  if  some  of  the  boys  liked  me,  and, 
really,  Robbie,  it  wasn't  my  fault  because  Tom 
Cooper  kept  tagging  after  me  and  pestering  me 
with  his  silliness.  And  one  night  —  this  was  long, 
long  before  I  met  you,  Robbie  — he  was  taking  me 


158  The  Confession  of  a-  (,'rinie. 

home,  and  he  —  he  kissed  me.  I  know  it  was 
perfectly  dreadful,  Robbie,  and  I  was  very  angry 
and  hurt  at  the  time.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about 
it  when  we  first  became  engaged,  but  I  didn't  dare. 
And  then  we  were  married,  and  it  was  harder  than 
ever.  And  I  suppose  I  should  have  taken  it  on 
my  conscience  down  to  the  grave  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you  and  Doctor  Moniteau.  It  isn't  too  late, 
Robbie,  is  it?" 

A  dreadful  silence  followed  the  disclosure.  Lucy 
felt  her  heart  beating  wildly,  and  her  brain 
throbbed  with  mad  and  awful  fancies.  She  saw 
herself  standing  in  the  divorce  court,  telling  the 
story  of  her  shame  to  an  unpitying  judge  and  a 
crowd  of  vulgar  and  jeering  spectators.  And 
Robbie  sat  near  with  sternly  averted  face,  and  her 
old  father  and  mother  were  bowing  their  heads  in 
humiliation  and  anguish. 

"  You  ain't  mad,  are  you,  Robbie  ?  " 
Again  that  ominous  silence.  But  Lucy  thought 
she  heard  a  faint  movement  of  the  pillow,  and  the 
terrible  story  of  Othello  and  Desdemona  rushed 
into  her  mind.  What  if  this  gentle  Robbie  Avere 
indeed  a  fiend  incarnate  when  his  jealous  passions 
were  aroused  ?  What  if  in  his  disappointment 
and  rage  and  wounded  love  he  should  rise  up  and 
strangle  her  or  smother  her  dying  cries  under  the 
soft  repository  of  goose-feathers  !  Lucy  was  chilled 
with  fright.  Her  impulse  was  to  slip  out  of  bed 


The  Confession  of  a  Crime.  159 

and  steal  to  a  place  of  safety.  But  what  would 
she  gain  ?  Life  ?  Was  life  without  Robbie  pref 
erable  to  death  ?  Was  death  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  that  awful  scene  in  the  court-room  and 
countless  years  of  biting  remorse  ?  No  !  If  her 
crime  merited  death  it  would  be  sweet  to  die  by 
Kobbie's  hand.  And  she  closed  her  eyes  again 
and  endeavored  to  recall  a  little  prayer  for  the 
dyina;  which  she  had  seen  in  a  prayer-book,  and 
which  had  made  a  marked  impression  on  her 
mind. 

But  still  that  fearful,  agonizing  silence.  It  was 
beginning  to  be  too  much  for  Lucy's  nervous  sys 
tem.  Such  misery  the  victim  experiences  when  he 
is  strapped  upon  the  bascule  of  the  guillotine, 
waiting  for  the  knife  to  fall.  The  moonlight 
struggled  in  through  the  slanting  blinds  and  dis 
closed  the  injured  husband  lying  on  his  side,  his 
left  arm  under  his  head,  his  right  carelessly  resting 
on  the  spread.  Lucy  raised  herself,  and,  leaning 
on  her  elbow,  peered  into  his  face. 

The  brute  was  fast  asleep, 


0ld  TVldjor's 


THE  OLD  MAJOR'S  STORY. 


IT  was  down  in  the  Current  River  country,  and 
at  that  period  of  development  this  was  not  a  coun 
try  to  conjure  by.  The  villages  were  small,  ragged 
and  depressing,  with  apparently  no  excuse  for 
being,  save  to  break  up  the  monotony  of  travel* on 
the  railway  lying  between  Springfield  and  Mem 
phis.  We  had  ridden  across  a  dreary  waste  of 
miles  from  the  fishing-grounds  in  a  conveyance 
the  atrocious  discomfort  of  which  baffled  all  com 
parisons,  and  had  missed  the  train  as  a  finishing 
touch  of  misery.  It  needed  only  this  to  round  oft' 
an  excursion  of  pleasure  that  had  been  prolific  of 
everything  except  pleasure.  The  fish,  if  fish  there 
were,  had  refused  to  bite,  but  this  deficiency  had 
been  supplied  by  a  large  variety  of  insects,  which 
had  welcomed  us  in  a  hospitable  manner.  We  had 
feasted  on  bacon  and  hominy,  hominy  and  bacon, 
until  we  had  entirely  forgotten  the  taste  of  all 
other  articles  of  food,  and  looked  upon  them  as  a 
sort  of  tormenting  dream.  And  the  highwayman, 
as  we  called  him,  who  had  all  the  external  signs  of 
a  Bald-Knobber,  and  all  the  natural  outcroppings 
of  a  bandit,  and  who  had  consented  to  convey  us 
163 


.104  The  Old  Major'* 

to  the  train,  bad  stipulated  for  a  consideration  so 
ruinous  that  the  pool  was  barely  able  to  meet  his 
demands.  At  the  same  time  it  was  deemed  politic 
to  submit  without  a  murmur.  It  is  astonishing 
how  a  few  rocks  and  woods  and  ravines  will  make 
cowards  of  brave  men. 

Four  of  us  were  in  the  party  —  the  General  Pas 
senger  and  Ticket  Agent,  who  organized  it,  a 
middle-aged  lawyer  with  a  good  practice,  a  young 
doctor  with  no  practice,  and  the  wretched  author 
of  the  tale.  It  was  not  at  this  crisis  an  agreeable 
party,  one  that  would  shed  luster  on  the  civiliza 
tion  of  the  nineteenth  century.  We  were  tired 
and  hungry  and  cross,  and,  at  the  same  time,  wet 
and  dry,  a  paradox  that  every  fisherman  readily 
understands  and  appreciates.  The  engine  of  our 
train  had  slipped  an  eccentric  forty  miles  down 
the  road,  and  was  bulletined  for  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  The  small  hotel  was  a  ghastly 
picture  of  misery,  and  seemed  so  full  of  terrors 
and  unknown  horrors  that  nobody  dared  go  to 
bed,  although  it  was  then  nine  o'clock,  promising 
a  long  sleep  before  train-time.  So  we  sat  around 
the  miserable  office  and  smoked  pipes  and  tried  to 
drink  the  appalling  stuff  that  the  brazen-faced 
hotel-keeper  endeavored  to  palm  off  upon  us,  to 
deaden  our  moral  senses  and  to  benumb  our  facul 
ties.  In  this  condition  the  meanness  of  our  nature 


The  Old  Major's  Story.  165 

turned  upon  the  unhappy  Passenger  and  Ticket 
Agent. 

"I  think/'  mused  the  lawyer,  "that  the  next 
time  I  go  fishing  I  shall  employ  a  railroad  man  to 
go  along,  to  show  me  all  the  holes  and  rare  places." 

"I  have  always  noticed,"  said  the  doctor,  "that 
railroad  men  are  thoroughly  informed  not  only  as 
to  the  best  fishing-grounds,  but  as  to  the  season 
when  the  fish  bite  most  freely." 

"Did  you  ever  observe,"  asked  the  lawyer,  "that 
a  railroad  man  never  takes  a  private  fishing-party 
on  his  own  road  ?  " 

"And  did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  replied  the 
doctor,  "that  when  the  trip  is  a  failure  he  remem 
bers  that  there  is  a  splendid,  place  on  f  our  road '  ?  " 

In  this  agreeable  strain  was  the  conversation 
continued  until  the  Passenger  and  Ticket  Agent, 
a  man  of  tact  and  resources,  contrived  to  divert 
our  minds  and  steer  the  discourse  into  other 
channels. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  began,  "it  was  twenty-five  — 
thirty — thirty-one  years  ago  that  I  first  came 
down  into  this  country,  and  just  thirty  years  ago 
that  I  left  it  in  a  hurry.  I  was  a  mere  boy  then, 
and  I  was  trying  to  find  rebels.  Quite  a  party  of 
us  at  the  time.  I  remember  that  General  Lyon 
was  along,  and  that  we  found  rebels  in  considera 
ble  quantities.  We  went  back  without  Lyon,  poor 
fellow,  but  it  was  mighty  lively  for  awhile." 


166  The  OU  Major'*  Wort/. 

This  started  the  conversation  into  a  discussion  of 
the  battle  of  Wilson's  Creek  and  the  campaign  in 
Southwest  Missouri.  Thence  it  was  easy  to  drift  into 
opinions  concerning  war  in  general  and  the  present 
troubles.  As  was  natural  enough,  those  of  us  who 
had  never  heard  a  cannon,  save  in  the  way  of  a 
celebration,  and  couldn't  tell  the  ping  of  a  minie 
ball  from  the  splutter  of  a  sky-rocket,  were  dis 
posed  to  look  on  war  as  a  cheap  and  easy  way  of 
settling  all  political  differences.  The  lawyer  con 
tended  that  the  United  States  had  been  too 
lenient  with  Chile,  and  the  doctor  was  convinced 
that  nothing  less  than  a  thrashing  would  ever 
bring  England  to  a  proper  appreciation  of  the 
Behring  Sea  troubles. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that/''  said  the  Pass 
enger  and  Ticket  Agent,  gravely ;  "  war  may  be 
important  to  settle  some  questions,  but  it's  my 
opinion  that  a  man  who  has  been  through  one  war 
never  cares  to  see  another." 

"And  you're  right,  sir,  in  that  opinion.  War, 
in  most  cases,  is  a  curse  to  humanity.  In  all  cases 
it  brings  sorrow  and  suffering." 

Far  over  in  a  corner  of  the  room  we  had  seen, 
when  we  entered,  a  man  pushed  back  in  a  chair, 
with  a  large,  soft  black  hat  pulled  over  his  eves, 
apparently  asleep.  As  he  spoke  he  tilted  forward, 
and  took  off  his  hat.  He  seemed  to  be  sixty  years 
of  age,  with  iron  gray  hair  and  beard,  and  a  face 


The  Old  Major's  Story.  1G7 

of  strength  and  intelligence.  A  soft,  somewhat 
smothered  enunciation  and  the  unmistakable  cut 
of  black  clothes  revealed  the  Southerner.  We 
were  a  little  embarrassed,  for  we  remembered  that 
we  had  spoken  freely  of  "rebels."  But  we  invited 
the  stranger  to  come  forward  and  have  a  drink, 
and  he  did  so,  taking  one  of  such  ample  propor 
tions  as  to  convince  us  that  his  motives  were 
friendly. 

"You  were  speaking  of  war,"  he  said,  "though 
I  reckon  you  are  most  of  you  too  young  to  know 
by  experience  the  meaning  of  the  word.  So,  if 
you'll  allow  me  to  order  up  another  round,  I'll  tell 
you  a  story." 

"It's  the  Ancient  Mariner,"  whispered  the 
lawyer. 

"In  which  event  there's  no  use  in  kicking," 
replied  the  doctor. 

The  liquor  having  arrived,  the  stranger  tossed  off 
another  alarming  potion  with  barely  a  movement 
of  the  throat,  a  feat  that  lighted  up  the  doctor's 
face  with  admiration,  while  a  covetous  look  stole 
into  his  eyes  as  he  thought  of  the  great  revelations 
of  an  autopsy.  Then  the  stranger  said,  with  a  tone 
that  was  charming  in  its  courtliness  : 

"  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself.  I  am  Major 
Fannin,  of  Texas.  Perhaps  the  title  isn't  impor 
tant,  but  down  my  way  everybody  calls  me  Major, 
and  this  is  to  be  a  war  story." 


168  The  Old  Major's  Story. 

We  assured  the  Major,  with  great  gravity,  that 
in  Missouri  it  was  a  luxury  to  address  anybody  un 
der  the  rank  of  colonel,  and  we  begged  him  to 
proceed. 

"  I  said,  when  I  so  unceremoniously  and  rudely 
broke  in  upon  you  "—  •  We  protested  with  much 
waving  of  hands.  "  I  said  that  war  brings  sorrow 
and  suffering.  I  know,  for  I  have  had  both." 

Strangely  enough,  we  had  not  noticed  until  that 
moment  that  the  Major's  left  sleeve  was  empty. 
Some  men  have  the  remarkable  faculty  of  blinding 
you  to  their  deficiencies,  and  the  Major  possessed 
that  gift  to  an  eminent  degree. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  offend  you,  gentlemen,  by  any 
opinions  concerning  the  civil  war.  I  was  a  rebel, 
as  you  call  it,  and  one  of  the  last  to  surrender. 
But  I  accepted  the  verdict,  and  am  as  firmly 
attached  to-day  to  our  common  country  as  any  of 
you.  We'll  drink  together,  and  Fll  tell  you  what 
war  did  for  me,  but  we'll  let  the  dead  issues  go. " 

Then,  after  a  pause  :  "When  the  war  broke  out 
I  was  practicing  law  in  a  Texas  town,  married,  and 
the  father  of  three  children,  the  oldest  a  boy  of 
seven,  the  youngest  a  baby.  The  war  fever  seized 
me  as  it  took  every  man  and  woman  in  the  South. 
I'm  not  going  to  say  that  I  ever  sat  down  seriously 
to  discuss  principles  or  issues.  It  was  enough 
for  me  that  my  State  had  decided  ;  that  my  people 
were  all  of  one  mind  and  opinion.  It  was  a  fever 


The  Old  Major's  Story.  169 

of  the  most  malignant  type,  and  consequences  were 
never  thought  of.  In  fact,  I  looked  upon  the  war 
more  as  a  dress  parade,  and  when  I  hurried  off  to 
join  my  regiment  I  left  my  wife  and  family  as  gayly 
as  if  I  were  starting  on  a  business  trip.  That  was 
my  first  error  and  the  cause  of  my  first  grief.  How 
could  I  foresee  the  storm  that  raged  for  four  years, 
swept  away  my  kindred,  drenched  my  country  with 
blood  and  brought  misery  to  my  home  ? 

"Our  friend,  here,  spoke  of  coming  down  this 
way  to  find  rebels.  I  reckon  I  was  one  of  the 
rebels  he  found,  for  I  remember  Wilson's  Creek 
very  well,  and  I  remember  chasing  bluecoats  for 
some  time  after  the  encounter." 

The  laugh  was  on  the  Passenger  and  Ticket 
Agent,  which  he  acknowledged  by  ordering  more 
drinks.  And  the  Major  went  on  : 

"  It  isn't  necessary  to  the  story  to  go  into  the 
details  of  my  service.  After  the  Missouri  cam 
paign  I  went  into  Kentucky  and  fought  at  Mill 
Spring.  At  Shiloh  I  saw  my  first  great  battle,  and 
there  I  was  taken  prisoner.  Then  I  began  to  ap 
preciate,  for  the  first  time,  the  magnitude  of  the 
work  we  had  undertaken  and  the  extent  of  the 
Federal  resources.  When  I  was  exchanged  I 
joined  Jackson's  command,  fought  with  him  at 
Antietam  and  was  in  the  great  charge  at  Chancel- 
lorsville,  where  he  met  his  death.  A  wonderful 
man  that,  gentlemen,  a  soldier  and  God's  noble- 


170  The  Old  Major's  Story. 

man,  every  inch  of  him.  All  this  time  I  had  re 
ceived  vague  and  unsatisfactory  news  from  home. 
My  wife  was  as  brave  a  woman  as  ever  sent  her 
husband  to  battle,  but  I  could  read  between  the 
lines  a  fainting  spirit  and  a  cry  of  despair.  For 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  believe  I  was  a  coward. 
The  night  before  the  battle  of  Gettysburg  I 
dreamed  that  my  family  were  starving,  and  the 
shock  of  the  dream  unmanned  me.  Perhaps  it 
turned  my  luck,  for  the  next  day  I  received  my 
first  wound  ;  I  lost  this  arm.  Then  came  weeks 
in  the  hospital,  and  when  I  was  able  to  get  about 
again  they  told  me,  what  a  thousand  arms  could 
not  replace,  my  little  Jessie  was  dead.  Jessie  was 
my  second,  my  favorite  child.  I  left  her  a  healthy 
little  blue-eyed  tot,  just  four  years  old.  And  the 
day  I  went  to  the  army  she  came  up  and  put  her 
little  arms  around  my  neck,  and  lisped  '  good-by ' 
in  her  baby  fashion.  I  kissed  her  as  if  I  were  go 
ing  down  to  my  office,  and  turned  my  back  on  her, 
never  to  see  her  again.  They  told  me  that  she 
died  of  a  slow  fever,  but  I  knew  better  than  that, 
for  my  dream  at  Gettysburg  came  back  to  me. 
Oli,  it  was  hard,  gentlemen,  it  was  hard  !  " 

The  old  Major's  voice  broke  and  his  lips  were 
quivering.  The  doctor  was  staring  uncomfortably 
at  the  ceiling,  and  the  lawyer  played  nervously 
with  the  glass  before  him.  But  the  railroad  man, 
with  that  sort  of  comradeship  that  old  soldiers 


The  Old  Majors  Story.  171 

have,  that  makes  the  man  beholding  love  his 
fellow-man  the  more,  put  his  hand  on  the  Major's 
shoulder  as  if  to  steady  and  comfort  him.  The 
Major  recovered  himself  and  went  on. 

"Well,  the  news  from  home,  instead  of  breaking 
me  down,  as  they  feared,  put  the  devil  in  me.  By 
this  time  we  had  begun  to  realize  that  we  were 
righting  against  terrible  odds,  and  that  the  Con 
federacy  was  in  a  desperate  way.  Under  ordinary 
circumstances  I  would  have  been  dismissed  as 
incapacitated,  but  the  decimation  of  the  army  had 
been  so  terrible  that  a  man  with  a  right  arm  and 
two  good  legs  was  still  worth  preserving.  All 
through  the  battles  of  the  Wilderness  I  hung  on, 
but  Grant  was  pressing  us,  our  forces  were 
dwindling  and  our  supplies  were  giving  out.  Day 
after  day  the  cause  grew  more  hopeless,  and  we 
saw  the  end  coming.  It  came  at  Appomattox. 
That  is  a  great  and  glorious  word  to  you,  gentle 
men,  but  to  me  it  brings  up  only  a  picture  of 
ragged  ness  and  semi-starvation  and  misery. 

"  The  conqueror  told  us  to  go  home,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  touch  of  irony  in 
the  word.  Through  the  South  I  journeyed,  the 
beautiful  South  that  I  had  loved  and  fought  for. 
How  pitiable  it  looked,  blackened  by  war,  devastat 
ed  by  soldiery,  the  fields  neglected,  the  homes 
going  to  ruin,  the  people  as  poor,  as  ragged  and 
as  miserable  as  myself.  This,  then,  was  the  fruition 


172  The  Old  Majors  Story. 

of  our  work,  the  glory  of  the  soldier's  trade  !  As 
I  went  along  my  heart  grew  heavier.  Kind  words 
and  sympathy  I  encountered,  indeed,  and  such 
material  assistance  as  the  people  could  afford. 
And  so  I  traveled  until  I  readied  my  town,  still 
wearing  my  old  gray  uniform,  dirty  and  ragged, 
with  long  hair  and  beard  and  plenty  of  gray  in 
both. 

"I  stopped  before  my  gate,  and  strangers  met 
me.  They  told  me  that  Mrs.  Fannin  had  moved 
to  a  little  house  in  the  outskirts.  Just  then  a  boy 
came  by ;  it  was  my  son,  for  I  saw  his  mother  in 
his  face.  lie  was  going  home,  and  we  walked  on 
together.  Without  telling  him  who  I  was,  I  drew 
from  him  the  story  of  the  family  trials,  how  mis 
erably  poor  they  had  been,  how  the  little  sister 
had  died  begging  that  she  might  see  her  father, 
and  wondering  why  he  had  never  come  back  from 
.  the  office ;  how  the  servants  had  all  run  away 
except  old  Enos  and  Mancly,  and  how  they  had 
worked  'to  keep  the  missus  as  Vpectable  like  as 
Mass'  Henry  would  want/  So  the  boy  talked  and 
I  listened  with  my  heart  in  my  throat  until  we 
came  to  the  house,  and  I  sent  him  in  to  tell  his 
mother  that  a  poor  soldier  would  like  to  get  a 
lodging  and  food. 

"  When  my  wife  came  to  the  door  and  I  saw  the 
care  and  sorrow  in  her  face,  my  knees  trembled  so 
I  could  scarcely  stand.  She  didn't  recognize  me, 


Tlic  Old  Major'*  Mori/.  173 

of  course  ;  Avhy  should  she  ?  80  I  spoke  out  and  told 
her  that  I  was  a  discharged  Confederate  soldier 
without  friends,  home  or  money,  and  I  asked  for 
food. 

"'My  poor  man/  she  said,  ' I  would  give  it  to 
you  gladly,  but  I  have  hardly  enough  for  my  chil 
dren.  My  husband,  like  you,  went  to  the  war. 
God  knows  where  he  is  to-day/ 

"'But,  madam,  at  least  you  can  give  me  a 
lodging/ 

"  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  '  If  I  could/ 
she  answered,  '  I  would  do  it  willingly,  but  where 
can  I  put  you  away  ?  The  house  is  small  and 
cramped,  and  I  have  no  extra  bed.  I  am  a 
soldier's  wife,  and  am  almost  reduced  to  a  soldier's 
necessities/ 

"  While  she  was  speaking  a  little  dog  that  had 
been  my  dead  child's  favorite  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  house.  He  sniffed  at  me  suspiciously 
and  then  began  to  caper  and  jump  with  the  live 
liest  manifestations  of  joy.  My  children  had  for 
gotten  me,  my  wife  did  not  know  me,  but  the 
little  dog  could  not  be  deceived.  I  saw  my  wife 
start  and  look  eagerly  into  my  face,  and  I  cried 
out  : 

"  '  Mary,  don't  you  know  me  ? ' 

"And  just  then  old  Mandy  came  to  the  door 
and  threw  up  both  hands  and  exclaimed  : 

" '  Fo'  Clod,  it's  Mass'  Henry  come  back  !' 


174  TJie  Old  Major9*  Story. 

u  Well,  we  all  went  into  the  wretched  little 
house  and  sat  down  and  cried  for  joy.  The  baby, 
now  the  image  of  the  little  Jessie  I  had  left,  came 
bashfully  in  and  caught  hold  of  my  empty  sleeve,  at 
which  my  wife  cried  the  more.  We  sat  up  half 
the  night,  and  she  told  me  all  her  griefs  and 
troubles,  though  I  have  always  suspected  that  she 
softened  them  as  much  as  possible.  And  she 
brought  out  a  little  package  and  kissed  it  and  put 
it  into  my  hands  without  a  word,  I  opened  it. 
It  was  a  lock  of  little  Jessie's  hair." 

The  Major  paused  and  studied  the  floor  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  said  :  "  It  was  up-hill  work,  but 
I  have  been  successful.  My  sorrow  ended  with 
that  reunion.  There  isn't  a  happier  home  in 
Texas,  nor  one  that  looks  with  greater  abhorrence 
upon  the  curse  of  war." 

The  lawyer  whispered  to  the  landlord.  As  he 
came  back  with  the  glasses,  the  lawyer  said  : 

"  Major,  you've  converted  me.  I'll  give  yon  a 
toast.  Peace,  enduring  peace  !  " 

The  old  Major  stood  up,  and  very  handsome  and 
soldierly  he  looked.  He  bowed  to  us  as  he  said  : 

"  And  the  Union  !  " 

The  railroad  man,  who  had  fought  at  Wilson's 
Creek,  reached  over  and  clasped  his  hand. 


Sweetheart. 


SWEETHEART. 


FARMER  ROOKS  sat  on  the  fence,  smoking  his 
pipe  and  looking  complacently  over  his  acres, 
which  stretched  away  a  mile  to  the  south  of  the 
important  town  of  Primrose. 

Every  student  of  border  history  must  be  famil 
iar  with  the  chronicles  of  Primrose,  its  early  scenes 
of  frontier  deviltry,  its  famous  rebellion  against 
Kansas  State  authority  and  its  bloody  county-seat 
war  with  Hellbent,  which  cost  thousands  of  dollars 
and  scores  of  lives,  and  was  the  moving  cause  of 
one  of  the  most  prosperous  graveyards  between 
Topeka  and  the  Rockies.  Farmer  Rooks  was  not 
a  farmer  in  those  stirring  times.  In  fact,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say  precisely  what  his  occupation 
was.  He  had  drifted  into  Kansas  apparently  for 
the  humor  of  the  thing,  and  for  a  year  or  two 
devoted  himself  to  the  liquor  interest  in  the  way 
of  consumption,  and  to  such  ephemeral  pleasure  as 
can  be  gathered  from  association  with  cowboys  in 
their  hours  of  relaxation.  When  the  county  was 
organized  and  the  question  of  a  county  seat  came 
up,  young  Rooks  took  the  stump  for  Primrose,  his 
natuiul  abilities  and  education  giving  him  the 


178  Sweetheart. 

qualifications  for  leadership.  It  was  he  who  first 
pointed  out  the  absurdity  and  disgrace  that  would 
attend  the  selection  of  a  town  with  the  name  of 
Hellbent.  To  counteract  the  effect  of  this  speech 
the  people  of  Hellbent  immediately  called  a  public 
meeting  and  changed  the  name  to  Bcntliell.  But 
the  reform  was  not  adequate,  and  a  majority  of 
voters  decided  in  favor  of  Primrose.  Then  the 
bad  men  of  Hellbent  organized  a  raid,  and  one 
dark  and  otherwise  advantageous  night  swooped 
down  on  Primrose  and  captured  the  records. 
Eooks  immediately  called  in  his  friends,  the  cow 
boys,  and  returned  the  raid  and  the  compliment. 
And  so  the  feud  ran  on  for  a  year,  until  Hellbent 
was  practically  depopulated  and  Rooks  was  a  curi 
osity  of  perforations.  At  last  an  honorable  treaty 
of  peace  was  agreed  upon,  and  Primrose  was  per 
mitted  to  retain  the  spoils  of  conquest. 

Jn  return  for  his  efficient  services  Eooks  was 
invited  to  claim  any  amount  of  honors  and  emolu 
ments.  But  a  man  who  has  been  probed  in  every 
part  of  his  body  naturally  loses  a  taste  for  active 
life  and  harassing  duties.  So  he  compromised  on 
a  testimonial  banquet  at  the  "Delmonico  restau 
rant,"  and  went  into  the  business  of  agriculture 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  His  first  grace^ 
ful  act  was  to  go  over  to  Hellbent  and  espouse  the 
belle  of  the  defeated  tribe,  thereby  completely 
healing  the  breach  and  setting  an  honorable  exam,-. 


Sweetheart.  179 

pie  to  future  Montagues  and  Capulets.  As  Prim 
rose  prospered,  so  also  did  Farmer  Rooks  and  his 
charming  and  thrifty  bride,  barring  the  one 
deplorable  grasshopper  invasion  and  an  occasional 
hot  wind  that  the  ingenuity  of  man  is  not  able 
to  circumvent. 

In  spite  of  her  arduous  duties  and  the  many 
pressing  demands  upon  her  time  and  attention, 
the  erstwhile  belle  of  Hellbent  found  occasion  to 
present  to  her  husband  the  most  charming  and 
delightful  miniature  edition  of  herself.  This  inci 
dent,  though  it  was  by  no  means  unparalleled  in 
Primrose,  which  was  beginning  to  experience  a 
steady  and  reliable  increase  in  population,  created 
much  local  enthusiasm.  The  entire  town  jour 
neyed  to  the  Rooks  farm,  and  the  men  shook 
hands  with  the  happy  father,  while  the  ladies  made 
minute  observations  and  the  most  critical  exami 
nation,  and  all  agreed  that  such  a  baby  was  a  spe 
cial  dispensation  of  Providence  and  an  unprece 
dented  manifestation  of  favor  to  Primrose.  A 
corner  lot  was  immediately  voted  by  the  town 
authorities,  and  called,  by  way  of  pleasantry  and 
gentle  reminder,  Rooks's  First  Addition. 

Now,  when  it  came  to  the  point  of  naming  this 
important  young  personage,  Farmer  Rooks  and  his 
wife  had  their  first  falling-out.  The  mother  was 
not  too  particular,  and  selected  from  her  family 
stock  a  large  variety  of  names  which  Farmer  Rooks 


ISO.  SweclJieart. 

rejected  as  being  altogether  commonplace  and  un 
worthy.  Like  a  loyal  son,  he  would  have  remem 
bered  his  own  mother,  but  Hannah  —  that  was  too 
much.  They  lay  awake  nights  quarreling  over  the 
vexatious  point.  They  sent  into  town  for  a  dic 
tionary,  and  went  carefully  and  laboriously  over 
the  Scripture  proper  names  and  the  Greek  and 
Latin  proper  names  and  the  Christian  names  of 
women  and  the  noted  names  of  fiction,  and  even 
the  modern  geographical  mimes,  but  with  no  result. 
The  schoolmaster  and  the  minister  came  to  their 
assistance,  and  the  minister  prayed  very  fervently 
that  God  would  aid  them  in  making  a  decision  ; 
but,  despite  the  assurance  of  assistance,  the  name 
was  as  far  away  as  ever.  At  one  time  Farmer 
Rooks  was  favorably  inclined  to  Leda,  but  the 
schoolmaster,  who  was  a  very  young  man,  blushed 
a  great  deal  and  hastily  convinced  the  father  that 
he  was  contemplating  a  great  wrong  to  an  innocent 
child.  Farmer  Rooks  admitted  that  he  knew  noth 
ing  of  mythology,  and  warmly  thanked  the  young 
schoolmaster  for  extricating  him  from  a  grave 
peril. 

All  this  time  the  baby  was  growing  and  devel 
oping  at  a  famous  rate,  and  seemed  to  look  with 
reproachful  wonder  out  of  its  big  blue  eyes  at  the 
unhappy  parents,  who  bade  fair  to  send  her  name 
less  through  life.  When  Farmer  Rooks  went  to 
the  field,  he  took  the  little  dictionary  with  him, 


Sweetheart.  181 

and  over  and  over  again  the  wondering  horses 
heard  his  "Abigail,,  Adeline,,  Adelaide,  Agatha  — 
git  up,  there  !  —  Clara,  Clarissa,  Constance,  Cora 
—  w-h-o-a  !  —  Arethusa,  Asteria,  Athena,  Aurora 
—  g'long,  now  —  Ceres,  Diana  —  back!  whoa!" 
And  at  night  the  mother,  washing  the  dishes, 
would  take  up  the  sad  refrain  :  "  Octavia,  Olivia, 
Pauline,  Penelope  —  Hiram,  did  you  fetch  in  the 
wood?  —  Sophia,  Sophronia,  Stella,  Susanna  — 
there's  the  baby,  Hiram  !  " 

One  day  Farmer  Rooks  sat  in  the  kitchen  on  the 
wood-box.  It  was  raining  hard,  the  baby  had  no 
name,  and  the  world  was  very  black.  There  came 
a  sound  as  of  a  falling  weight,  and  a  loud  squall 
proclaimed  that  the  baby  had  tumbled  out  of 
her  crib.  Then  the  mother's  voice  was  heard  : 
"  What's  the  matter,  sweetheart  ?  Who's  been 
hurting  mamma's  little  sweetheart  ?" 

Farmer  Eooks  jumped  from  the  wood-box  and 
slapped  his  leg.  "By  gad,  Nell,  found  at  last! 
You've  struck  it  this  time.  We'll  call  her  Sweet 
heart  ! " 

Great  news  always  travels  quickly,  and  twenty- 
four  hours  had  not  elapsed  before  the  whole  town 
knew  that  the  baby  had  been  named.  At  first  some 
carping  complaints  were  heard.  The  minister's 
wife  argued  that  such  a  name  would  not  tend  to 
the  spiritual  advancement  of  the  child  ;  that  she 
would  grow  up  in  vanity  and  self-consciousness, 


182  Sweetheart. 

and  that  her  mind  would  be  filled  with  distracting 
thoughts  before  her  time.  A  few  other  mothers 
resented  the  monopoly  implied  by  the  name,  and 
hinted  that  there  was  likely  to  be  a  good  deal  more 
than  one  "sweetheart"  in  the  community.  But 
Farmer  Rooks  was  obstinate.  He  maintained 
forcefully  that  it  was  his  child  and  he  could  call 
her  whatever  he  chose.  She  was  u  Sweetheart  "  to 
him  and  would  always  be.  If  other  people  did  not 
like  the  name  they  could  call  her  Miss  Rooks. 
This  appeared  to  strike  the  community  as  a  per 
fectly  reasonable  suggestion,  and  an  exhibition  of 
Rooks's  usual  good,  hard  sense. 

As  Sweetheart  grew  up  all  opposition  to  the 
name,  as  to  its  propriety  or  appropriateness,,  melted 
away.  It  was  a  sure  case  of  love  at  first  sight,  and 
everybody  who  saw  her  surrendered  on  the  spot. 
The  Rooks  farm  was  on  the  main  road  to  Benthell 
and  High  Rock,  and  nobody  in  the  county  thought 
of  driving  by  without  pulling  up  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Sweetheart.  She  was  the  only  child,  for  Mrs. 
Rooks,  who  was  a  busy  woman,  had  discovered 
that  the  demands  and  cares  of  maternity  were  en 
tirely  too  exacting  for  a  farmer's  wife  in  an  undevel 
oped  country.  Consequently,  she  was  all  the  more 
precious  to  the  farmer's  heart,  and  lie  never 
wearied  of  repeating  her  epigrams  when  he  went 
to  town,  and  of  exhibiting  her  accomplishments  to 
the  stranger  within  the  gates. 


Siveetheart.  183 

Mrs.  Rooks,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  share 
in  this  manner  of  adoration.  She  admitted  her 
daughter's  beauty  and  many  good  qualities,  but 
was  not  blind  to  the  little  eccentricities  which  are 
part  of  a  child's  nature.  Mrs.  Rooks  had,  more 
over,  forcible  theories  of  government,  and  had 
established  a  set  of  by-laws  which  are  found  in 
every  well-regulated  household.  Consequently, 
Sweetheart's  life  was  not  wholly  devoid  of  those 
exciting  and  purely  one-sided  or  jug-handled 
episodes  which  befall  all  children  of  high  animal 
spirits.  These  interviews  Mrs.  Rooks  described  as 
"molding  the  character,"  but  it  was  significant 
that  Sweetheart's  character  was  never  "molded" 
when  her  father  was  at  home,  for  he  countenanced 
no  liberties  with  Sweetheart's  feelings. 

So  the  years  went  peacefully  by  until  the  early 
afternoon  when,  as  hereinbefore  related.  Farmer 
Rooks  sat  on  the  fence  and  smoked  his  pipe  and 
looked  over  his  acres.  It  was  the  end  of  an  old- 
fashioned  winter,  and  spring  had  come  on  with 
one  of  those  lightning  changes  that  are  the  per 
plexities  of  agricultural  life  in  Kansas.  Farmer 
Rooks  was  too  old  a  settler  to  be  misled  by  any 
climatic  blandishments,  and  the  mercury  that  stood 
at  75  on  an  April  afternoon,  with  a  hot  wind  blow 
ing  from  the  southwest,  offered  no  inducements 
for  rash  experiments.  Near  the  farmer  little  Sweet 
heart  was  disporting  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of 


184 

her  five  years  and  exercising  the  petty  tyrannies  that 
a  child  has  in  store  for  a  completely  subjugated 
father.  Farmer  Rooks  looked  at  her  admiringly, 
and  chuckled  at  the  reflection  that  he  had  the 
prettiest  child,  the  thriftiest  wife,  the  tidiest  home 
and  the  best  farm  in  the  county.  "Such  a  figure 
as  that  child  has/'  he  laughed  to  himself;  "as 
plump  as  a  prairie  chicken  and  as  graceful  as  a 
colt."  In  truth,  Sweetheart  was  a  pretty  picture 
as  she  romped  up  and  down  the  yard,  her  cheeks 
rosy  with  the  color  of  health,  her  blue  eyes  danc 
ing  with  childish  glee,  and  her  flaxen  curls  blown 
all  oyer  her  head  by  the  force  of  the  wind.  But 
it  might  have  been  noticed  that  in  her  play 
she  was  particularly  careful  to  see  that  no  acci 
dent  befell  the  new  shoes  on  her  little  feet,  for  just 
before  the  outing  Mrs.  Hooks  had  requested  an 
interview  with  Sweetheart,  and  had  told  her  that 
if  anything  happened  to  those  shoes  something 
would  drop.  What  that  something  was  the  child 
had  distinct  and  painful  recollection. 

"Fm  going  into  town,  mother,"  said  the  farmer, 
calling  to  the  busy  woman  in  the  kitchen.  "You 
keep  an  eye  on  Sweetheart,  as  she's  like  to  blow 
away.  If  the  wind  doesn't  let  up  before  night  we 
may  hear  from  it." 

So  Farmer  Rooks  jumped  on  his  horse  and  can 
tered  off  to  town,  with  numerous  commissions 
from  the  infant  tyrant,  which  he  gravely  jotted 


Sweetheart.  1H5 

down  on  the  back  of  an  old  envelope.  Sweetheart 
watched  him  to  the  end  of  the  potato-patch  and 
returned  to  her  sports.  She  was  doubtless  playing 
one  of  those  mysterious  and  intricate  games  that 
are  evolved  from  a  child's  process  of  thought, 
which  consist  of  a  great  deal  of  digging  in  the  dirt 
and  accumulation  of  small  lumber  and  other  acces 
sories.  All  the  afternoon  she  devoted  to  this 
occult  scheme  of  diversion,  contemplating  a  great 
surprise  for  the  farmer,  and  pausing  anon  to 
inspect  the  condition  of  the  new  shoes. 

Neither  the  busy  woman  in  the  house  nor  the 
child  at  play  noticed  the  change  in  the  atmosphere. 
The  wind  had  died  away  and  the  air  was  hot  and 
oppressive.  At  times  the  sky  seemed  to  give  a 
yellow  light ;  then  almost  as  quickly  it  would  take 
a  greenish  tinge,  which  would  as  rapidly  fade 
away.  There  was  no  signal  service  expert  in 
Primrose,  and  there  were  no  weather  prophets  to 
guess  at  probabilities,  but  the  big  rooster  that 
strutted  up  and  down  past  the  little  girl  cocked 
his  eye  occasionally  at  the  heavens  as  much  as  to 
say  :  "  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things,  Sweet 
heart  ;  you  and  I  \1  better  get  out  of  this." 

Sweetheart  had  reached  that  point  in  her  archi 
tectural  pursuits  when  it  became  necessary  to  get 
up  and  stand  off  at  a  little  distance  and  scrutinize 
her  work.  At  that  moment  there  came  from  the 
distance  a  low,  dull  roar,  and  the  big  rooster  gave 


186  S-wccthcart. 

a   quick   squawk   of  alarm   and   ran  to   the  shed. 
The  mother  in  the  kitchen  heard  it,  and  came  to  the 
door,  but  there   stood    Sweetheart  with   her    eyes 
upon  her  castle  and  her  thoughts  wrapped  up  in 
the  surprise  for    her  father.      Straight  from  the 
southwest,    skirting   the   edge  of    the    town,  and 
coming  at  an  incredible  speed,  was  a  huge  balloon, 
and  Sweetheart,  looking  up,  saw  it  and  clapped  her 
hands  with  joy.     One  look,   however,   made  the 
mother's   heart   stand   still.     She   knew   too  well 
now  the  meaning  of  the  distant   roaring  and  the 
fate  of  whatever  stood  in  the  path  of  the  monster 
that  bounded  up  and  down  and  swept  on  in  its 
course   of  death.     "Sweetheart!"    she   screamed, 
and    took  one  step  forward.     She   was   too   late. 
The  cloud  was  on  them  with  an  angry  shriek,  and 
in   a   second    everything   was   swept   away.     The 
house  was  in  ruins  ;  the  sheds  were  flattened  like 
cardboard  ;  great  trees  were  torn  up  and  twisted, 
and  the  air  was   filled    with   flying   timbers   and 
household  articles.   Pinned  to  the  earth,  the  mother 
lay   as  one  dead.     And  Sweetheart — where  was 
Sweetheart  ? 

Farmer  Rooks  sat  in  the  grocery  on  a  nail-box 
with  a  dozen  of  his  friends  about  him.  '-You 
see,"  said  he,  "mother  and  I  took  Sweetheart  over 
to  the  Higginses  to  call  on  Joe's  folks.  And  while 
we  were  there  Joe's  wife's  baby  got  hungry  and  she 
had  to  nurse  it,  Sweetheart  all  the  time  looking  on 


Sweetheart.  187 

with  her  eyes  wide  open.  And  when  we  were 
going  home  Sweetheart  says  :  '  Mamma,  I  don't 
think  that  was  a  nice  thing  for  Mrs.  Higgins  to  do. 
I  think  it  was  nasty/  And  her  mother  said  : 
1  Why,  Sweetheart,  you  and  I  used  to  do  that  when 
you  were  a  little  baby/  And  Sweetheart  put  on  a 
look  of  great  disgust,  and  said  :  ''Well,  mamma,  if 
I  did,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  say  anything  about 
it ! ' " 

A  great  shout  greeted  this  story,  and  just  then 
Bill  Harper,  the  butcher,  rushed  in  and  cried  out: 
"Boys,  there's  a  cyclone  south  o'  town,  and  it 
looks  as  if  it  might  strike  your  place,  Hi  ! " 

Pell-mell  they  crowded  into  the  street.  Farmer 
Rooks's  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and  he  shook  like  a 
leaf.  Away  to  the  northeast  they  saw  that  angry, 
bounding  balloon,  and  marked  the  ruin  in  its  wake. 
Another  minute,  and  Farmer  Rooks  was  in  the  sad 
dle  and  off  in  a  dead  run,  and  those  who  looked  on 
his  face  saw  an  agony  that  was  indescribable. 

"  Boys,"  said  Bill  Harper,  "  it's  got  Rooks's  place, 
sure  ;  it  was  right  in  the  line  of  the  cyclone.  God 
help  him  if  we  can't ;  but  we'll  try." 

Men  on  horseback  and  men  in  wagons  followed 
Farmer  Rooks,  who  was  now  far  ahead  and  riding 
like  a  demon.  Within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  his 
farm  he  saw  the  house  was  gone.  He  reeled  and 
nearly  fell  from  the  saddle.  But  the  horse  seemed 
to  realize  the  pressure  of  his  mission,  and  ran 


188 

madly  on  through  the  rain,  now  falling  jn  a  tor 
rent,  evading  and  clearing  the  limbs  and  branches 
of  trees  that  lay  across  his  path.  In  front  of 
where  was  once  the  door  the  animal  stopped,  and 
Farmer  Hooks  threw  himself  from  his  back,  and 
knelt  by  the  side  of  his  wife. 

"Mother!   mother!"    he    cried.       "Where    is 
Sweetheart  ?" 

^  A  few  minutes  later,  when  the  neighbors  and 
friends  drove  up,  they  found  him  looking  union" 

the  ruins  and  moaning,  "Oh,  Sweetheart,  Sweet 
heart  ! " 

It  was  an  easy  task  to  release  the  farmer's  wife, 
and  the  work  of  a  minute  to  restore  her  to  con 
sciousness.  Her  left  arm  was  broken,  but  she 
couldn't  think  of  that.  She  saw  her  husband 
prying  among  the  timbers,  and  she  heard  his 
moans  of  anguish,  and  knew  that  Sweetheart  was 
gone.  She  could  tell  nothing.  The  storm  had 
come  like  a  flash  and  swept  her  away  from  her 
side. 

"One  thing  is  sure,"  said  Billy  Sedgwick,  "the 
child  isn't  here,  and  has  been  carried  off  by  the 
wind.  We'll  have  to  foller  the  path  till  we  find 
her." 

They  'went  out  very  solemnly,  for  they  knew 
they  were  going  after  the  dead.  '  And  those  who 
had  little  girls  at  home  turned  awnv  their  heads  so 
that  Hi  mightn't  see  the  tears  in  their  eves.  But 


Sweetheart.  189 

Farmer  Jttooks  was  hurrying  along  with  that  deadly 
pallor  still  on  his  face,  and  his  wife,  forgetful  of  her 
broken  arm,  was  at  his  side.  Her  lips  were  mov 
ing,  and  Bill  Harper  said  she  was  praying. 

Then  Bill  Sedgwick  and  Jim  Grant  and  the 
Kingrnan  boys,  who  were  in  front,  set  up  a  shout. 
And  here  came  Sweetheart  up  the  road.  Her 
little  dress  was  in  tatters,  her  stockings  were  down, 
and  one  shoe  was  gone.  Her  flaxen  curls  were 
torn  and  dirty,  her  face  was  streaked  with  mud,  and, 
withal,  she  was  well  plastered  from  head  to  foot. 
The  mother,  in  a  manner  perfectly  characteristic 
of  her  sex,  no  sooner  saw  her  child  alive  than  she 
gave  a  shriek  and  fainted  away.  The  father  rushed 
to  the  little  one  and  grabbed  her  up  and  kissed  her 
muddy  hair  and  dirty  face  and  little  scratched 
arms  again  and  again. 

"I  didn't  run  away,  papa,"  said  Sweetheart, 
apologetically.  "1  didn't  want  to  go.  But  when 
the  big  balloon  came  along  somebody  reached 
down  and  grabbed  me  up  and  held  me  tight  so  I 
couldn't  get  away,  and  he  took  me  off  down  the 
road  with  a  lot  of  boards  and  things  and  our 
speckled  hen  and  the  red  chicken-coop.  And 
after  awhile  he  got  tired  and  laughed  and  let 
me  down  in  a  mud-puddle  and  splashed  me  all 
over  ;  and  —  and  "  (here  she  looked  fearfully  at 
her  mother,  who  was  coming  to  consciousness)  "  I  - 
I  —  losted  one  of  my  shoes," 


190  Street  heart. 

But  the  father  took  little  Sweetheart  in  his  arms 
and  pressed  her  to  his  breast.  And,  forgetful  of 
his  ruined  home  and  blighted  farm,  he  buried  his 
face  in  her  tangled  curls  and  sobbed  for  joy  and 
thankfulness.  For  now  he  knew  that  God  had 
ridden  on  the  storm. 


Political  panderings  of  Joseph 


THE  POLITICAL  WANDERINGS  OF  JOSEPH 
MACON. 


THE  door  of  the  little  back  room  was  carefully 
closed,  and  the  Numidian  attendant  was  instructed 
to  see  that  the  company  was  not  disturbed. 

"  There  is  great  danger  in  making  a  Kentucky 
toddy/'  said  Colonel  Bollinger,  as  the  boys  drew 
around  the  table  and  surveyed  the  preparations 
with  interest.  "  You  take  a  lump  of  sugar,  like 
this,  put  it  in  a  long  glass,  and  pour  in  a  very  little 
water,  just  enough  to  dissolve  the  sugar.  Then 
you  stir  with  a  spoon,  and  add  the  whisky.  Com 
plete  by  pouring  in  more  water." 

"  But  where's  the  danger,  Colonel  ?  " 

"The  danger,  sir,  is  in  getting  in  too  much 
water.  You  may  not  believe  it,  but  to  make  a 
toddy  as  it  should  be  made  is  one  of  the  most 
puzzling  of  all  the  glorious  arts  of  modern  times. 
I  remember  when  Joe  Macon  came  down  to  visit 
me  that  we  sat  up  together  half  the  night  experi 
menting.  Joe  would  never  admit  that  we  had 
discovered  the  secret  of  exact  proportion,  and  the 
result  was  that  when  we  started  for  home,  al 
though  we  had  only  three  blocks  to  go,  we  must 


193 


194        The    Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon. 

have  covered  half  a  mile  of  territory.  And  when 
a  policeman  I  happened  to  know  offered  to  assist 
Joe,  lie  told  him  that  he  didn't  require  assistance, 
as  everybody  knew  that  the  longest  way  round  was 
the  shortest  way  home." 

"  Who  was  Joe  Macon,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  JOJB  Macon,  sir,  was  one  of  the  greatest  politi 
cians  this  country  has  ever  known,  as  cunning  as  a 
fox,  as  strong  as  an  ox,  and  as  brave  as  a  lion.  If 
one  of  you  gentlemen  will  ring  for  the  cigars  I'll 
tell  you  a  story  about  him.  Thanks  —  a  Henry  Clay, 
please,  rather  strong. 

"Well,  when  the  war  broke  out,  Joe  was  living 
up  in  Northwest  Missouri,  a  sort  of  dealer  in  general 
merchandise,  sugar,  coffee,,  clothing,  niggers,  and 
the  like.  Andy  Callaway  and  Joe  married  sisters, 
daughters  of  old  Squire  Benton,  who  was  with 
Price  during  the  troubles  in  this  State.  Andy  was 
a  right  smart  sort  of  fellow  himself,  and  what  he 
didn't  know  about  a  nigger  trade  couldn't  be 
learned.  Of  course  his  sympathies  were  all  with 
the  South,  and  at  first  he  promised  the  squire  that 
he'd  join  the  army.  But  the  more  he  got  to  think 
ing  about  it  the  less  he  liked  the  idea.  You 
see,  all  of  Andy's  property  was  up  among  the 
Dutch,  and  if  he  joined  the  rebel  army  it  meant 
confiscation  and  a  dead  loss.  So  Andy  closed  out 
his  niggers  and  went  home  to  think  it  over." 

The  Colonel  bit  off   the  end  of  his  cigar  and 


The   Wandering*  of  Joseph  Macon.        195 

chuckled.  "  Well,  the  first  thing  Joe  knew,  along 
came  the  Home  Guards  one  day,  and  here  marched 
Andy  with  a  lot  of  Dutchmen,  dressed  up  in  a 
blue  uniform  and  carrying-  the  Union  flag,  with 
the  band  playing  Yankee  Doodle,  or  some  other 
odious  air.  Joe  was  mad  clear  way  through,  and, 
when  Andy  looked  over  at  him  and  winked,  Joe 
wanted  to  go  and  pull  him  out  of  the  ranks.  But 
his  wife  said  :  <  You  let  Andy  Callaway  alone. 
Depend  upon  it,  he  knows  what  he's  doing/  That 
night  Andy  came  over  to  Joe's  house,  still  wearing 
his  blue  uniform.  That  made  Joe  madder  than 
ever,  and  the  way  he  lit  into  Andy  was  a  caution. 
But  Andy  just  sat  and  grinned,  and  when  Joe  had 
finished  he  said  : 

"  '  Now  look  here,  Joe,  you  're  on  the  wrong  track. 
It's  all  well  enough  for  us  to  be  talking  about  our 
sympathies  and  our  rights,  but  the  fact  is  it's  a 
question  whether  we'll  go  broke  or  keep  our  prop 
erty  and  our  skins.  As  a  choice  between  tlie 
Dutch  and  a  rope  or  a  bullet,  I'll  take  the  Dutch. 
And  if  you're  sensible  you'll  go  with  me.' 

"  Much  to  Joe's  surprise,  his  wife  spoke  up  and 
warmly  seconded  Andy.  Mrs.  Macon  was  a 
thrifty  woman,  and  as  she  lived  in  a  border  State 
she  didn't  have  much  of  that  impractical  sentiment 
that  was  so  popular  among  the  women  further 
South.  And  Andy  kept  pegging  away  at  him. 
" '  The  thing  for  you  to  do,  Joe,  is  to  go  up  to 


196        The   Wanderings  of  Jose-pli  Ma  con. 

the  hall  with  me  to-morrow  night  and  make  appli 
cation  for  membership  in  the  Home  Guards/ 

u  <  What  good  will  that  do  ?'  said  Joe.  'Every 
body  in  the  country  knows  that  Fve  owned  and 
sold  niggers,  and  that  I'm  a  rebel.  They'll  just 
laugh  at  me  and  perhaps  mob  me.' 

" '  No,  they  won't/  said  Andy ;  '  I'll  tell  you 
exactly  what  they'll  do.  When  you  send  in  your 
name  Jim  Cole  will  be  there.  lie  kicks  at  every 
thing  and  everybody.  It's  more  than  likely  that 
he'll  get  up  and  denounce  you,  and  when  he  gets 
to  calling  you  names  you  want  to  go  for  him  right 
off.  Knock  him  down  and  lick  him.  That'll 
tickle  the  Dutch  and  be  a  sure  proof  of  your  loy 
alty,  and  they'll  take  you  right  in.' 

"Well,  they  talked  and  argued  and  wrangled, 
and  finally  Joe  gave  in  and  allowed  he'd  try  it, 
anyway.  And  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  bet 
ter-humored  he  became.  And  he  tried  on  Andy's 
coat  and  strutted  up  and  down  the  room,  and  as 
he  thought  of  the  wrath  of  his  father-in-law  he 
laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"  So  the  next  night  Andy  came  around  and  got 
Joe,  and  they  went  up  together  to  the  hall.  The 
boys  looked  mighty  curious  when  they  saw  Joe 
come  in,  for  you  see  Joe  had  talked  pretty  loud 
about  nigger-loving  Yankees,  and  it  was  generally 
known  that  he  had  fitted  one  fellow  out  and  sent 
him  off  to  Price.  But  Andy  and  Joe  sat  down 


The   Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon.        197 

and  didn't  say  a  word  until  it  came  time  to  nom 
inate  new  members.  Then  Andy  got  up  and  made 
a  little  speech.  He  said  it  gave  him  great  pleasure 
to  propose  his  brother-in-law,  Joseph  Macon,  as  a 
member  of  the  company.  He  supposed  that  it  was 
pretty  well  known  to  the  intelligent  and  represent 
ative  Germans  present  that  Mr.  Macon's  early 
sympathies,  like  his  own,  had  been  with  the  Con 
federacy.  But  since  the  South  had  so  far  forgot 
ten  itself  as  to  fire  on  the  flag,  that  glorious 
emblem  of  a  great  and  honored  union  of  States,  he 
had  felt  it  his  duty  to  rally  to  its  defense.  He 
therefore  begged  the  privilege  of  enrollment  among 
the  other  honorable  defenders  of  the  Union. 

"When  Andy  sat  down  there  was  faint  applause, 
and,  sure  enough,  Jim  Cole,  who  had  been  sneer 
ing  all  through  his  speech,  took  the  floor.  Jim 
was  a  sarcastic  fellow,  and  he  began  by  saying  that 
he  highly  approved  such  loyal  sentiments  coming 
from  so  authoritative  a  source.  He  was  glad  to  hear 
that  Mr.  Macon  had  experienced  this  revulsion  of 
feeling,  for  less  than  twenty-four  hours  before  he 
had  heard  the  gentleman  cursing  the  Union  from 
Abe  Lincoln  down  to  the  janitor  of  the  Khode 
Island  State-house.  For  his  own  part  he  knew 
Mr.  Macon  to  be  the  all-firedest  rebel  in  Northwest 
Missouri,  an  unrepentant  nigger- trader  and  a  man 
who  would  cut  up  a  blue  uniform  for  dish-rags. 

"  Well,   these  spirited   remarks  set  up  a  great 


198       The   Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon. 

hubbub  among  the  Dutch,  for  Jim  was  an  authority 
on  the  question  of  loyalty.  And  Andy  nudged 
Joe  as  a  sort  of  hint  that  the  crisis  had  come.  So 
Joe  got  up  very  deliberately  and  remarked  that  he 
was  greatly  pained  and  outraged  by  these  asper 
sions  on  his  patriotism.  He  apologized  to  the 
company  for  his  inability  to  make  a  speech,  and 
said  that,  as  a  man  of  action  and  not  of  words,  he 
would  detain  them  only  a  moment.  Then  he 
crossed  over  to  Jim  Cole  and  said  :  'Jim,  you're 
the  durnedest  liar  in  the  town,  and  I  can  prove  it.' 
With  that  he  hit  him  between  the  eyes  and  knocked 
him  flat,  picked  him  up  and  threw  him  over  three 
rows  of  chairs,  stood  him  up  again  and  kicked  him 
six  or  eight  times,  and  finally  left  him  in  a  heap  in 
the  corner.  Then  he  turned  to  the  company  and 
roared  :  '  If  there's  any  other  gentleman  has  any 
thing  to  say  ag'in  me  or  the  Union,  now's  his  call.' 

"Of  course  nobody  had  anything  to  say  in  the 
face  of  this  argument,  and  Joe  was  taken  right  into 
membership  before  Jim  had  fairly  come  to  con 
sciousness.  You  couldn't  have  made  a  Dutchman 
in  that  room  believe  that  Joe  wasn't  next  thing  to 
an  abolitionist." 

"Was  Joe  a  good  Union  man  after  that, 
Colonel  ?  " 

"  Union  man  ?  "  echoed  the  Colonel,  with  great 
scorn.  "  He  was  one  of  the  best  Union  men  you 
ever  saw.  He'd  go  clown  to  the  meetings  and 


The   Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon.       199 

listen  to  the  proceedings,  and  then  ride  all  night 
to  warn  one  of  his  Confederate  friends  who  had 
been  marked  for  arrest.  He  was  such  a  Union 
man  that  he  couldn't  bear  to  think  that  the  Union 
should  be  put  to  the  trouble  and  expense  of  sup 
porting  a  worthless  rebel." 

The  Colonel  puffed  a  moment  in  silence.  "  Poor 
Andy,"  he  went  on,  "he  didn't  have  much  show 
after  all.  One  day  the  news  came  that  the  rebels 
were  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the  Home  Guards 
were  called  out.  In  some  way,  while  they  were 
dodging  back  of  town,  the  boys  got  scattered  and 
divided.  Two  squads  came  up  on  one  another  in 
the  brush  and  got  to  firing.  Before  they  found  out 
their  mistake  Andy  was  killed.  Joe  always  claimed 
that  it  wasn't  a  mistake  at  all ;  that  they  killed 
him  out  of  pure  malice.  They  took  him  back  to 
town  and  gave  him  a  military  funeral,  and  covered 
the  coffin  with  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  put  Dnlce 
est  pro  patria  mori  in  his  obituary.  Joe  tells  me 
that  not  long  ago  Andy's  wife  received  a  pension 
with  back  money  as  a  slight  testimonial  from  a 
grateful  country." 

•'  What  became  of  Joe  ?  " 

"  Well,  Joe  settled  down  to  farming  after  the 
war.  But  he  didn't  make  much  of  a  success  of  it. 
He  was  too  great  a  man.  Perhaps  you've  noticed 
that  a  great  man  is  only  great  between  spells  of 
farming.  Cincinnatus  was  that  kind.  His  farm- 


200        The    Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon. 
ing  merely  gave  him  a  chance  to  think  tip  more 
greatness.  Joe  was  a  natural  politician.    He  would 
hang  around  and  find  out  how  things  were  going, 
and  then  he'd  go  that  way.     He  used  to  say  that 
he  wouldn't  trust  a  man  who  wasn't  open  to  con 
viction.     But  somehow  Joe  was  unlucky.     When 
he  ran  as  a  Republican  the  county  went  Demo 
cratic,  and  when  he  came  out  as  a  Democrat  the 
county  flopped  over  and  went  Republican.     If  he 
got  on  the  Prohibition  ticket  the  county  went  wet, 
and  he  no  sooner  took  the  side  of  the  antis  than 
every  Dutchman  voted  dry.     It  was  the  most  curi 
ous  thing  you  ever  saw.     Yet  Joe  was  a  brainy 
man,  and  one  of  the  best  wire-pullers  in  the  State. 
Bu(;  he  did  have  such  luck.     One  day  he  started 
to  bring  in  a  lot   of   section  hands,   at   his   own 
expense,  on  a  gravel  train.     The  engine  jumped 
the  track,  and  Joe  and  his  brother  didn't  reach 
town  till  three  hours  after  the  polls  closed.     Joe 
was  beaten  by  one  majority.      Another   time  he 
imported  a  lot  of  Irishmen  from  Kansas  and  kept 
them  for  two  weeks.     On  election-day  they  all  got 
drunk  and  went  fishing.     There  never  was  any 
thing  like  it  for  luck. 

"Naturally,  Joe  got  a  little  discouraged.  His 
farm  began  to  play  out,  as  farms  will  when  they 
are  run  as  political  annexes,  and  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  were  considerably  annoyed  by  malaria.  So 
Joe  reckoned  he'd  pull  up  and  quit.  It  looked  a 


The  Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon.       201 

little  inviting  over  on  the  Kansas  side,  and  he 
moved  across  and  purchased  a  few  acres  near  the 
river.  There  was  plenty  of  good  land  cheap  a  few 
miles  back  in  the  country,,  but  Joe  said  he  was 
tired  and  didn't  like  to  travel,  anyhow,  and  he 
thought  he'd  try  it  around  the  edge,  just  to  see 
how  Kansas  was  going  to  suit.  If  he  liked  it,  he 
could  dip  a  little  farther  in  any  time. 

"  Well,  with  Joe's  record  as  a  Union  soldier,  and 
on  the  strength  of  his  fracas  with  Jim  Cole,  he 
could  have  had  a  good  thing  in  Kansas.  But  here 
is  where  his  confounded  luck  came  in  again.  Just 
about  this  time  Cleveland  was  elected  President, 
and  Joe  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  wanted  to  be 
postmaster.  Of  course,  that  killed  him  with  the 
Republicans,  and  the  fight  over  the  office  grew  so 
hot  that  the  party  was  disrupted,  and  two-thirds 
of  the  Democratic  leaders  had  it  in  for  Joe.  To 
crown  his  sorrows,  another  fellow  got  the  office, 
and  the  next  year  the  river  rose  and  washed  out 
his  farm.  Then  Joe  gave  up,  and  took  to  drink, 
which  he  had  sort  of  been  taking  to  pretty  natur 
ally  for  some  years.  Ilis  wife  died,  and  his  daugh 
ters  married  off,  and  it  left  him  free  to  do  about  as 
he  pleased.  He  was  such  a  good-natured  fellow 
that  everybody  liked  him,  and  he  was  always 
sergeant-at-arms  at  Democratic  conventions  on 
account  of  his  great  strength  and  his  love  of  order. 

"Down  in  Joe's  neighborhood  the  county  inva- 


202       The   Wandering*  of  Joseph  Macon. 

riably  had  its  final  Democratic  rally  of  the  cam 
paign.  The  boys  would  gather  from  all  quarters, 
build  a  huge  camp-fire  and  circle  around  it  while 
the  speaking  was  going  on.  Every  man  was  sup 
posed  to  bring  his  own  private  jug  of  JefTersonian 
doctrine,  and  as  the  meeting  never  adjourned  until 
the  doctrine  gave  out  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
oratory.  At  such  times  Joe  was  in  his  element, 
and  always  saw  that  everything  was  pleasant  and 
harmonious. 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  the  Colonel,  "that  I 
am  getting  a  little  parched.  Beg  pardon.  You 
were  about  to  order  the  drinks  when  I  interrupted 
you.  Xo,  my  boy,  not  for  the  world  ;  you  spoke 
first.  1  shall  be  happy  to  drink  with  you." 

When  he  had  measurably  refreshed  himself,  the 
Colonel  proceeded  : 

"  I  remember  being  present  at  one  of  these 
rallies.  I  was  invited  to  address  the  County 
Democracy  on  the  character  of  Jefferson.  Al 
though  I  was  a  stranger  to  most  of  the  statesmen 
assembled,  they  honored  me  with  profound  atten 
tion,  and,  I  may  say  with  modesty,  unstinted 
applause.  When  we  first  met  together  around 
the  fire,  I  noticed  with  displeasure  that  there  was 
a  nigger  present,  not  as  a  servant,  which  would 
have  been  perfectly  proper,  but  as  a  Democrat  and 
a  brother.  I  spoke  to  two  or  three  gentlemen  about 
it,  but  as  they  seemed  to  treat  it  with  indilTer- 


The   Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon.       203 

dice,  I  could  not,  as  a  guest,  object.  For  a  time  the 
greatest  harmony  prevailed,  but  as  the  toasts  grew 
more  frequent  and  the  good  liquor  began  to  cir 
culate,  I  could  observe  a  marked  change  in  the 
demeanor  of  the  crowd.  Occasionally  a  gentle 
man  would  look  np  and  catch  sight  of  the  nigger, 
and  a  look  of  astonishment  would  come  over  his 
face,  as  if  '  he  observed  him  for  the  first  time. 
And  by  and  by  the  whole  crowd  began  to  scrutinize 
the  nigger  in  an  aggrieved  and  injured  way,  not 
exactly  in  a  hostile  manner,  but  with  that  air 
which  suggests  perplexity,  annoyance,  inability  to 
account  for  the  presence  of  an  interloper. 

"  As  I  recall  it,  Judge  Gentry,  as  grand  a  Demo 
crat  as  "ever  drew  the  breath  of  life,  was  speaking 
of  the  comprehensive  principles  of  Democracy. 
The  fire  had  burned  low,  and  we  were  unable  to 
distinguish  faces  around  the  circle.  The  Judge 
had  reached  an  eloquent  climax  in  which  he  glori 
fied  the  equality  of  man  as  sustained  by  the  Dem 
ocracy,  and  thanked  God  that  we  had  met  that 
night  as  brothers  in  a  grand  universal  brother 
hood,  when  there  came  the  sound  of  two  quick 
blows,  and  a  man  tumbled  back  into  the  fire.  As 
he  fell,  the  embers,  displaced  by  the  body,  shot  up 
a  sudden  flame,  and  we  recognized  the  features  of 
the  nigger.  And,  do  you  know,  as  a  most  remark 
able  example  of  spontaneity  of  thought,  every  man 
in  that  circle  jumped  to  his  feet  and  shouted  : 


204        The   Wanderings  of  Joseph  Macon. 

'  Hurrah  for  Joe  Macon  ! '  It  was  one  of  the 
grandest,  most  inspiring  sights  I  ever  witnessed. 
Judge  Gentry  told  me  that,  in  all  his  forty  years  of 
labor  for  the  Democratic  party,  he  had  never  ob 
served  a  more  thrilling  tribute  to  a  party  worker." 

"  Did  they  send  him  to  Congress,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  poor  Joe  was  too  far  gone  at  that 
time  to  receive  any  reward,  however  merited.  A 
few  months  later  he  was  taken  into  the  Soldiers' 
Home,  that  beautiful  haven  of  rest  prepared  by 
our  country  for  those  who  have  fought  her  battles. 
I  spent  a  Sunday  with  him.  As  I  came  up  the 
walk  from  the  station,  here  was  Joe  jabbering  with 
a  couple  of  old  fellows  in  blue,  and  drawing  in  the 
gravel  with  his  cane.  He  was  saying  :  '  Now,  it 
was  just  like  this  at  Bull's  Run.  Here  were  the 
rebels  over  here  in  the  woods,  and  here  was  our 
command  down  by  the  stream  that  ran  along  this 
way.' 

"When  I  had  him  alone  I  said:  'Joe,  what 
were  you  talking  about,  you  old  rascal?  You 
know  that  you  never  were  at  Bull's  Run.' 

"And  Joe  looked  at  me  in  a  doubtful  sort  of 

way,  and  said  :  *  Colonel,  I've  told  that lie  so 

many  times  since  I've  been  here  that  I'm  gettin'  to 
believe  it  myself.'" 


Distribution 


THE   DISTRIBUTION. 


IT  is  related  in  the  brief  chronicles  of  the 
adventures  of  Moses  in  Egypt  that,  after  the 
law-giver,  with  Divine  assistance,  had  subjected 
Pharaoh  to  various  annoyances  such  as  murrain 
of  beasts,  tremendous  crops  of  frogs  and  flies,  pain 
ful  boils  and  blains  and  a  visitation  of  hail,  he 
caused  a  shower  of  locusts  that  not  only  covered 
the  land  and  ate  up  every  green  thing,  but  super 
induced  the  bold  statement  that  "before  them 
there  were  no  such  locusts  as  they,  neither  after 
them  shall  be  such."  Doubtless,  Moses  was  per 
fectly  honest  in  this  opinion,  for,  prophet  as  he 
was,  he  could  not  foresee  the  possibilities  of  the 
great  American  continent.  Indeed,  all  Christian 
lands  have  accepted  this  promise  with  a  security 
that  argued  well  for  their  faith  ;  but,  in  an  evil 
moment  for  Moses,  people  began  to  move  into 
Kansas.  Now  Kansas  has  always  prided  itself  on 
its  ability  as  a  record-breaker,  and,  despite  the 
orthodox  religious  sentiment  there  prevalent,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  it  has  ever  regarded  Moses  as  a 
leader  in  the  same  class  with  John  Brown.  And 
as  for  Pharaoh's  little  experience  with  the  locusts, 
207 


308  The  Distribution. 

you  can  get  thousands  of  affidavits  in  Kansas  any 
day  to  the  effect  that  a  Mosaic  locust  is  to  a  Kan 
sas  grasshopper  what  a  humming-bird  is  to  a  spar 
row-hawk.  These  affidavits  are  not  intended  to  be 
irreverent  or  unorthodox,  but  are  merely  the  out 
growth  of  patriotism  and  State  pride. 

In  fact,  the  Kansas  man,  having  rallied  from  the 
plague,  is  as  proud  of  his  grasshopper  as  a  woman 
is  of  her  pet  poodle.  The  Egyptian  article  sub 
sisted  on  green  things,  but  the  Kansas  variety  is 
claimed  to  have  devoured  cord-wood,  kitchen 
utensils  and  bits  of  scrap-iron  and  nails;  in  truth, 
everything  except  the  mortgage,  which  thus  far 
seems  to  have  escaped  even  the  ingenuity  of  Provi 
dence.  Whoever  visits  Kansas  in  these  days  should 
not  fail  to  ask  the  inhabitant  to  tell  him  about 
the  iron  pot  half-devoured  by  the  ravenous  insects, 
or  the  crowbar  into  which  they  burrowed  in  their 
efforts  to  make  a  square  meal.  These  things  are 
now  among  the  sacred  traditions  of  the  State,  and 
will  be  properly  attested  before  a  notary.  When 
one  sits  down  to  write  of  them,  he  cannot  avoid 
the  conviction  that  Pharaoh's  trouble  has  been 
very  greatly  overestimated. 

Nobody  contends  that  the  Lord  sent  the  grass 
hopper  into  Kansas,  as  previously  He  showered  the 
locusts  upon  Egypt.  If  any  significance  of  divine 
motive  appears  in  this  visitation,  it  is  that  He 
afflicted  Kansas  as,  many  centuries  before,  He  vis- 


The  Distribution.  209 

itecl  sorrow  upon  Job  —  a  test  of  strength  and  for 
bearance.  At  least  this  is  the  popular  Kansas  idea, 
and  it  is  entitled  to  consideration. 

After  all,  there  is  much  that  is  compensatory  in 
the  workings  of  Providence,  and  while  the  Lord 
sent  the  grasshoppers  as  a  sort  of  gentle  reminder 
that  the  Kansas  man  was  putting  on  more  airs 
than  the  average  farmer  is  entitled  to  under  a  high 
protective  tariff,  he  had  compromised  the  blow  by 
granting  a  wheat  crop  of  sufficient  yield  to  prevent 
a  disastrous  season  of  infidelity.  And  then,  as  this 
concession  appeared  to  be  too  strong  an  evidence 
of  favor  and  discrimination  against  Job,  he  gave 
the  devil  permission  to  supplement  the  grasshopper 
pest  with  a  drought  that  ate  up  the  farmers 
patience  as  neatly  as  the  insects  devoured  his 
grain.  Such  was  the  condition  of  affairs  at  Dob 
bins  the  morning  after  the  grasshopper  convention 
and  banquet, 

Dobbins  had  never  figured  very  extensively  in 
the  political  history  of  Kansas,  partly  because  it 
was  a  new  town  and  partly  because  its  settlers  had 
not  had  the  advantage  of  previous  training  in 
Ohio  or  Indiana.  It  had  never  turned  out  any 
thing  more  formidable  in  a  political  way  than  a 
candidate  for  the  Legislature,  and  he  had  been 
beaten  by  a  combination  which  Judge  Jefferson 
always  referred  to  as  "circumstances." 

Judge  Thomas  Jefferson,  or  the  "  Jedge,"  as  he 


210  The  Distribution. 

was  familiarly  called,  was  the  one  character  in 
Dobbins  who,  everybody  conceded,  had  been 
strangely  and  harshly  neglected  by  fate.  To  the 
simple  people  among  whom  he  lived  he  was  a  mine 
of  information  and  learning,  a  vast  repository  of 
facts  and  figures.  To  him  went  all  the  neighbors 
with  questions  and  problems,  and  it  is  due  to  the 
Judge  to  say  that  he  answered  them  promptly 
with  great  facility.  It  was  largely  through  the 
Judge's  aptness  in  answering  questions  off-hand 
that  for  a  time  the  idea  prevailed  in  certain  circles 
of  Dobbins  that  Leviticus  was  a  Roman  general. 
And  when  the  minister  sought  to  dispel  this  illu 
sion  the  Judge  explained,  with  great  impressive- 
ness,  that  there  were  two  distinct  branches  of  the 
family,  the  Hebrew  and  the  Eoman,  and  that  he 
had  naturally  supposed  that  the  question  referred 
to  the  modern  representative  who  had  distin 
guished  himself  by  his  great  gallantry  in  the 
second  Punic  war.  'fOh,  well,"  said  the  Judge,  in 
the  off-hand  way  that  characterizes  men  of  great 
erudition,  "if  you  mean  the  Hebrew  fellow,  I  sup 
pose  the  parson's  right."  And  as  the  Judge  pro 
nounced  the  word  with  the  accent  on  the  first 
syllable  the  impression  grew  that  Leviticus  was  an 
old  Mosaic  humorist.  So  the  Judge  emerged 
from  the  argument  with  greater  prestige  than 
before. 

The  Judge  had  moved  into  Kansas  from  Mis- 


The  Distribution.  211 

souri  at  the  close  of  the  civil  war,  and  had  settled 
down  on  Dry  Creek,  which  subsequently  marked 
the  southern  limits  of  the  town  of  Dobbins.  It 
was  confidently  believed  by  his  fellow-citizens  that 
in  Missouri  he  had  been  a  distinguished  jurist,  and 
that  he  had  been  obliged  to  fly  from  home  on 
account  of  his  loyalty  to  the  Union  and  for  the 
reason  that  old  Caspar's  father  left  Blenheim  — 
they  burnt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground.  This  im 
pression  the  Judge  never  undertook  to  correct. 
13ut  in  Kansas  he  was  content  to  live  on  his  past 
reputation,  and  to  make  ends  meet  with  such  little 
manual  labor  as  a  small  gentleman  farmer  could 
with  dignity  allow. 

The  early  history  of  Judge  Jefferson  was  a  sealed 
book.  Indeed,  the  gentleman  himself  avoided  all 
inquiries  tending  to  lead  up  to  personal  matters, 
and  at  such  times  bore  so  unmistakable  a  look  of 
pain  that  it  was  admitted  by  common  consent  that 
he  was  the  hero  of  a  mystery ;  but  whether  a 
romance  or  a  lynching,  it  was  impossible  to  tell. 
When  he  had  first  appeared  on  Dry  Creek,  he  had 
been  distinguished  for  his  long,  luxuriant  hair  and 
an  expansive  shirt  front.  In  later  years  he  had 
curtailed  his  locks,  but  retained  the  prestige  of 
exposing  a  wider  area  of  shirt  bosom  than  any  man 
in  the  district.  In  politics  he  was,  as  his  name 
would  indicate,  a  Democrat,  and  while  this  fact  did 
not  deprive  him  of  any  social  pleasures,  it  proved 


212  The  Distribution. 

a  barrier  to  the  realization  of  those  hopes  that  at 
one  time  or  another  inflame  every  voter  in  Kansas. 
"In  this  world/'  said  the  Judge,  "I  am  a  martyr 
to  principle,  but  in  the  great  and  notable  day  of 
the  Lord  I  shall  find  my  recompense." 

As  Dobbins  grew  the  Judge  began  to  branch  out. 
He  it  was  who  opened  the  first  real  estate  office, 
organized  the  first  town-lot  company,  and  called 
the  attention  of  Eastern  capitalists  to  the  golden 
opportunities  that  were  waiting  to  be  picked  up 
along  Dry  Creek.  It  was  the  Judge  who  presided 
at  all  the  public  meetings,  made  the  most  stirring 
public-spirited  addresses,  and  cheerfully  gave  his 
time  and  his  eloquence  to  offset  the  cash  contribu 
tions  of  those  less  gifted  and  less  influential. 

Yet  in  spite  of  these  exertions  and  this  laudable 
display  of  public  spirit  Dobbins  remained  a  village, 
and  the  Judge  showed  no  evidence  of  prosperity. 
In  fact,  the  little  farm  on  the  creek  began  to  run 
down,  and  the  Judge's  shirt  bosom,  never  of  im 
maculate  whiteness,  bore  tobacco  stains  somewhat 
deeper  and  more  numerous  than  before.  Things 
looked  squally  for  the  descendant  of  the  great 
patriot. 

One  day  a  letter  came  saying  that  the  Judge's 
wife  had  come  into  possession  of  a  three-hundred- 
dollar  legacy  through  the  timely  demise  of  a  super 
fluous  relative.  In  honor  of  this  felicitous  event, 
the  next  day  being  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord,  the 


The  Distribution.  213 

Judge  gave  a  dinner-party  to  his  daughters  and 
sons-in-law,  his  sons  and  daughters-in-law,  and 
their  heirs  and  assigns  of  all  ages.  The  older 
members  of  the  family  were  still  sitting  at  the 
table,  and  the  heirs  and  assigns  were  playing  in 
the  yard,  when  there  came  a  tap,  tap,  tap  at  the 
window  pane.  The  Judge  had  reached  a  point  in 
his  discourse  where  he  was  disposing  of  the  last 
hundred  dollars  of  the  legacy,  and  he  looked  an 
noyed  by  the  interruption. 

"It's  only  the  children,"  said  his  wife,  sooth 
ingly. 

"As  I   was   saying,"  went   on   the   Judge, 
mean  to  take  this  last  portion  of  the  money  and 

apply  it  to  " And  again  came  the  tap,  tap, 

tap.  The  Judge  looked  over  his  spectacles  to  catch 
the  culprits  at  the  window,  but  they  were  not  in 
sight.  "  To  take  this  money  and  apply  it  to  the 
improvement  of  the  " —  And  for  the  third  time, 
and  louder  than  before,  came  the  tap,  tap,  tap. 

"Bill,"  said  the  Judge,  "I  wish  you'd  go  out 
and  drive  those  children  away.  This  money  came 
to  us  lawfully,  and  it  seems  as  though  we  might 
have  the  privilege  of  disposing  of  it  as  we  please." 

Bill  rose  carelessly  and  went  to  the  door,  lie 
opened  it  and  looked  out.  Then  he  closed  it 
quickly  and  turned  to  the  old  man  with  his  face 
white. 

"  My  God,  father,  it's  grasshoppers  ! " 


214  TJie  Distribution. 

The  company  jumped  from  the  table  and  rushed 
to  the  door  and  windows.  A  cloud  of  insects 
almost  shut  out  the  sky,  and  thousands  had  already 
settled  down  on  the  trees  and  ripening  grain. 
Even  as  the  startled  farmers  looked  the  vegetation 
seemed  to  disappear,  and,  as  if  in  a  moment,  the 
valley  was  like  a  prairie  swept  by  tire  or  a  country 
sacked  and  pillaged  by  the  conquerors  in  war.  The 
Judge  looked  first  at  the  destroyers  and  then  at  his 
sons.  "  Boys/'  said  he,  "  we're  busted,  by ! " 

A  less  indomitable  spirit  than  Thomas  Jefferson, 
the  namesake  and  descendant  of  the  man  who  con 
structed  the  cradle  of  liberty,  would  have  been 
crushed  by  this  misfortune.  But  the  Judge  was 
unconquerable.  In  fact,  he  experienced  a  glow  of 
pleasure,  as  it  were,  in  the  reflection  that  at  last 
he  was  a  "sufferer."  The  old-time  Kansun  exults 
in  "suffering."  He  esteems  it  a  natural  stage 
through  which  he  must  pass  in  order  to  reach  the 
true  dignity  of  life.  A  life  in  Kansas  without 
some  of  the  cruel  tests  and  disappointments  that 
beset  a  new  country  is  to  subject  the  citizen  to 
suspicion  and  distrust,  and  to  cause  him  to  be 
looked  upon  as  a  Sybarite  and  an  enemy  to  existing 
conditions.  So  the  Judge,  with  a  flutter  of  pride, 
mounted  his  horse,  which  the  grasshoppers  had 
spared,  and  rode  to  town. 

The  ruin  had  been  so  widespread  that  the  Judge 
soon  found  himself  in  the  company  of  the  most 


The  Distribution.  215 

prosperous  farmers  of  the  valley,  and  it  required 
very  little  argument  to  convince  them  that  the 
calamity  was  one  that  appealed  directly  to  the 
sympathy  and  charity  of  the  entire  nation. 

"  As  one  who  has  been  prostrated  by  this  heavy 
blow,"  said  the  Judge,  "I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
calling  a  public  meeting,  to  be  held  in  the  Method 
ist  church  to-morrow  afternoon,  to  devise  means  to 
lay  our  misfortunes  properly  before  the  country. " 

When  the  Judge  called  this  meeting  to  order 
the  church  was  filled  with  sufferers  and  their 
friends.  The  Judge  began  with  great  dignity. 
He  reminded  his  hearers  that  their  misfortune  was 
not  unparalleled  ;  that  the  Romans,  returning  from 
the  second  Punic  war,  had  found  their  crops  devas 
tated  by  a  similar  pest.  Should  the  citizens  of 
Dobbins  be  less  courageous  than  the  people  of 
Rome  ?  Should  they  not  bear  up  under  their 
affliction,  at  the  same  time  setting  forth  the  exact 
facts  in  order  that  the  country  might  not  be 
debarred  from  the  blessed  privilege  of  giving  of  its 
store  ? 

Jim  Hodgman  demurred.  Jim  had  always 
looked  upon  the  Judge  as  a  Missouri  mossback,  and 
thwarted  him  in  every  possible  way.  He  admitted 
that  he  didn't  know  anything  about  a  Punic  war, 
or  what  the  Romans  did,  but  when  he  was  in 
Kansas  he  believed  in  doing  as  the  Kansans  did. 
He  had  looked  around  the  room,  and  while  there 


216  The  Distribution. 

were  some  honest  farmers  present,  the  meeting  was 
composed  largely  of  men  who  couldn't  be  hurt  by 
a  dozen  grasshopper  invasions.  For  his  own  part, 
he  had  raised  a  good  crop  of  wheat,  and  was  in  no 
danger  of  starving.  lie  moved  the  meeting 
adjourn. 

The  Judge  replied  with  great  eloquence  and 
fervor.  lie  submitted  to  the  council  of  "sturdy 
farmers  and  their  friends  "  that  a  cry  of  distress 
was  going  up  all  over  Kansas ;  that  the  grout, 
newspapers  of  the  country  would  be  tilled  with 
dispatches  from  every  county  and  town.  Could 
Dobbins  afford  to  miss  this  glorious  opportunity  to 
advertise  itself  in  the  Eastern  press  ? 

Mr.  Ilodgman  asked,  with  a  slight  shade  of  sar 
casm,  if  that  was  the  policy  adopted  by  the  suffer 
ing  Romans  after  the  second  Punic  war. 

Judge  Jefferson  answered  with  spirit  that  the 
facilities  of  the  old  Romans  were  somewhat  abridged, 
but  that  they  were  great  hands  to  take  advantage 
of  their  opportunities. 

Tom  Meade  thought  that  Dobbins  would  acquire 
a  better  measure  of  advertising  by  taking  care  of 
itself  and  declining  all  offers  of  assistance.  This 
opinion  created  a  flutter  and  great  agitation  on 
the  part  of  the  Jefferson  contingent. 

Mr.  Hodgraan  renewed  his  motion  to  adjourn. 

The  motion  was  lost,  and  a  committee  was 
appointed  to  draft  resolutions  setting  forth  the 


The  Distribution.  217 

calamity  that  had  overtaken  the  Dry  Creek  Valley 
and  the  town  of  Dobbins,  and  imploring  such 
assistance  as  a  generous  nation  could  grant.  At 
his  own  suggestion  Judge  Jefferson  was  selected 
to  go  to  Kansas  City  to  stir  up  the  Board  of  Trade 
to  a  realization  of  the  disaster.  Thereupon  the 
meeting  adjourned,  subject  to  the  call  of  the  chair 
man  of  the  executive  committee. 

That  great  director  of  public  sentiment,  the 
Dobbins  Enterprise,  forewarned  the  merchants  of 
Kansas  City  that  they  would  be  waited  upon  by 
the  Hon.  Thomas  Jefferson,  a  victim  of  the 
great  scourge,  and  at  the  same  time  a  man  who  had 
lost  sight  of  his  own  troubles  in  the  awful  calamity 
that  had  overtaken  his  fellow-citizens.  It  bespoke 
for  the  advocate  a  generous  welcome  and  a  hearty 
measure  of  aid,  and  presented  him  to  the  great 
commercial  Samaritans  as  one  of  the  foremost 
men  of  Kansas,  the  peer  of  the  brightest  and  the 
pride  of  the  best.  The  Judge  thoughtfully  mailed 
several  copies  of  this  formal  introduction  to  the 
newspapers,  the  banks  and  the  Board  of  Trade  of 
the  Southwestern  metropolis.  Then  he  brushed 
up  his  best  clothes  and  started  for  the  city. 

A  smaller  man  than  the  Judge,  a  man  less  self- 
contained,  less  conscious  of  the  high  philanthropy 
of  his  mission,  less  impressed  with  the  urgency  of 
the  cause  that  drove  him  from  hjs  rnial  quiet  into 
the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  citv.  would  have  been 


218  The  Distribution. 

overwhelmed  by  the  reflection  that  he  was  seeking 
the  ear  of  strangers  and  the  co-operation  of  men 
engrossed  with  their  own  affairs.  But  the  Judge 
was  not  easily  daunted.  In  less  than  six  hours 
after  his  arrival  in  the  city  lie  had  conversed  with 
three  reporters,  and  not  only  painted  a  harrowing- 
picture  of  the  desolating  scenes  along  Dry  Creek, 
but  had  reviewed  in  full  the  parallel  circumstances 
of  the  second  Punic  war,  and  had  outlined  the 
probable  policy  of  the  Democratic  party  in  the 
coming  campaign.  Two  papers  spoke  of  him  as 
"one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  Democracy's 
chieftains,"  and  a  third  styled  him  that  "old  wheel- 
horse  of  Democracy."  The  second  day  he  was  on 
'Change  laboring  with  the  moneyed  men,  and  set 
ting  forth,  in  his  most  picturesque  manner,  the 
terrors  of  the  plague  that  had  paralyzed  the  ener 
gies  of  Dobbins  and  clogged  the  wheels  of  com 
merce. 

"Our  town,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Judge,  "has 
enjoyed  the  closest  commercial  relations  with  your 
city.  It  is  for  this  reason,  if  for  no  other,  that 
we  have  come  at  once  to  you  in  our  distress.  I 
would  ask,  if  it  were  feasible,  that  you  should  send 
a  committee  of  your  body  to  see  for  yourselves  the 
extent  of  our  sufferings,  but  time  presses,  and 
affliction  brooks  no  delay." 

Not  one  man  in  forty  had  ever  heard  of  Dobbins, 
but  the  Judge  was  fertile  in  resources,  and  the 


Tlic  Distribution.  219 

next  morning  the  newspapers  printed  diagrams  of 
the  town  and  Dry  Creek  in  the  very  heart  of  an 
appalling  waste  of  grasshoppers.  Board  of  Trade 
men  are  notoriously  open-handed,  and  this  evi 
dence  of  suffering  touched  them.  Before  the  week 
was  out  a  purse  of  nearly  $1,500  had  been  pre 
sented  to  the  Judge,  and  a  carload  of  corn-meal 
was  ordered  shipped  to  Dobbins  without  delay. 

Publius  Scipio,  returning  from  the  second 
Panic  war,  could  not  have  experienced  a  greater 
measure  of  personal  satisfaction  than  was  felt  by 
the  Judge  as  he  took  the  train  for  Dobbins.  And 
he  argued  forcibly  with  himself  as  he  bowled  along  : 
"  It  is  a  principle  promulgated  by  a  great  statesman 
that  to  the  victors  belong  the  spoils  !  Such  princi 
ples,  however,  should  be  governed  by  circum 
stances.  I  will  apply  only  $200  to  my  own  expenses 
out  of  the  $1,450  I  have  raised  by  my  eloquence 
and  efforts." 

An  hour  later  he  said  :  "  It  would  appear  that  I 
am  robbing  myself.  I  will  take  $100  more  for  my 
just  dues." 

Still  a  third  time  the  devil  tempted  him,  and  he 
communed  :  "  Why  conceal  from  myself  the  knowl 
edge  of  my  necessities  ?  Four  hundred  dollars  will 
be  a  poor  reward  for  my  labors."  And  then,  with 
the  keen  appreciation  of  a  man  who  enjoys  a  quiet 
joke,  he  asked  the  conductor  to  lose  no  time,  as 


every  hour  deprived  a  suffering  community  of 
means  of  relief. 

The  return  of  the  Judge  to  Dobbins  was  wel 
comed  by  a  joyous  outpouring  of  '•'  sufferers!"  The 
train  that  bore  the  distinguished  representative  of 
smitten  agriculture  brought  also,  from  Topeka,  a 
relief  committee  and  a  carload  of  donations,  princi 
pally  in  the  way  of  wearing-apparel,  warranted 
grasshopper-proof.  As  the  Judge  stepped  on  the 
platform  he  was  met  by  Jim  Hodgrnan,  who  pro 
pounded  a  few  blithe  questions  touching  the 
present  relative  condition  of  the  Punic  war  and 
the  Dry  Creek  invasion.  To  these  ribald  taunts 
the  Judge  replied  with  dignity,  and  an  adjourn 
ment  was  taken  to  '2  p.  M.  to  allow  the  committee 
to  lay  out  the  clothing. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  gratitude  was  not  one 
of  the  shining  virtues  of  the  Dobbins  sufferers. 
As  the  relief  committee  cordially  invited  the  vic 
tims  to  step  up  and  inspect  the  coats  and  trousers 
generously  provided  for  their  necessities,  many 
were  the  exclamations  of  disappointment. 

"This  here  coat  is  five  years  old  if  it's  a  day," 
said  Bill  Xixon. 

"  Ain't  there  no  watch-pocket  in  them  trousers, 
Bill?"  asked  Sim  Mayfield. 

"What  do  you  want  of  a  watch-pocket?"  said 
Ilodgmau.  "Next  thing  you'll  be  wanting  a 
watch." 


The  Distribution.  221 

"Got  any  white  vests?"  inquired  Joe  Morgan. 
Joe  was  the  dude  sufferer. 

"What  do  we  want  with  these  old  duds,  any 
how  ? "  exclaimed  John  Tully,  with  indignation. 
"  The  corn's  all  gone,  and  there  ain't  no  need  of 
scarecrows." 

"There's  a  reasonable  amount  of  suffer!  11'  round 
here,"  said  Bill,  "but  I'm  inclined  to  think,  from 
the  looks  of  these  offerings,  that  the  calamity  has 
been  exaggerated." 

Mr.  William  Ray,  the  tenor  of  the  Methodist 
choir,  stepped  up  briskly.  "There's  to  be  an 
entertainment  at  the  church  to-night  for  the  bene 
fit  of  the  sufferers,"  said  he.  "If  no  gentleman 
has  any  objections,  we'll  take  these  things  to  help 
out  the  costumes." 

"Take  'em  along,  Bill,"  replied  Joe ;  "they  may 
come  in  handy  after  all." 

Mr.  Morgan's  prediction  was  verified.  The 
costumes  were  the  glittering  feature  of  the  enter 
tainment,  and  the  sufferers  who  came  early,  paid 
their  twenty-five  cents  each,  and  occupied  the 
front  seats,  applauded  liberally. 

"It's  a  darned  good  show,"  said  John  Tully, 
approvingly,  "and  we  ought  to  get  some  money 
out  of  it.  But  I  don't  see  what  we'd  have  clone 
without  them  fixin's." 

Judge  Jefferson  appeared  on  the  stage  and  was 
o-reeted  with  a  great  round  of  applause.  He 


The  Distribution. 

unbuttoned  his  vest  and  waved  his  hand  with 
dignity. 

"  Fellow-sufferers, —  I  think  I  may  say  as  much, 
for  we  are  all  sufferers  in  this  common  cause,—  I 
have  been  requested  to  thank  our  fellow-citizens 
for  getting  up  this  delightful  entertainment  for 
our  benefit,  and  also  to  include  the  relief  com 
mittee  from  Topeka  that  has  assisted  so  materially 
in  our  pleasure  this  evening.  Ancl  so  I  pass  to 
another  agreeable  surprise.  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  informing  you  that  I  have  returned  from  Kan 
sas  City  with  a  cash  contribution  of  $1,050.  I 
have  ventured  to  withhold  the  modest  sum  of  $50 
for  my  expenses,  and  will  now  turn  over  the  balance 
of  $1,000  to  your  chairman." 

Tremendous  enthusiasm  followed  this  announce 
ment.  Three  cheers  were  given  for  the  Judge, 
who  was  surrounded  by  his  fellow-citizens  and 
complimented  for  his  industry  and  generosity. 
Then  Jim  Hodgman  took  the  stand. 

"If  the  meeting  is  agreeable,"  said  Jim,  "I 
should  like  to  ask  permission  of  the  visiting  com 
mittee  to  use  their  cars  for  the  purpose  of  ship 
ping  our  wheat." 

The  committee,  somewhat  dazed  by  the  turn  of 
events,  thought  the  matter  could  be  arranged,  and 
the  company  dispersed  with  many  bright  anticipa 
tions  for  the  future. 

Three  or  four  days  after  the  c]istribution.  Judge 


The  Distribution.  223 

Jefferson,  Bill  Nixon  and  two  or  three  more  of 
the  boys  were  sitting  in  Sam  Turner's  grocery, 
when  the  Judge  said  : 

"  Boys,  there's  a  load  of  corn-meal  down  on  the 
side-track  which  nohody  seems  to  claim.  Til 
play  you  a  game  of  seven-up  to  see  who  gets  it. " 

"I'll  go  you,"  said  Bill. 

So  the  cards  were  dealt  and  the  game  pro 
gressed  until  everybody  had  been  frozen  out  save 
Bill  and  the  Judge.  It  was  the  last  hand.  Bill 
lacked  one  point,  the  Judge  two. 

"I  stand  right  now,"  said  Bill ;  "what  yer  got, 
Jedge?" 

"King  high  here." 

"  King  is  good.     I  stand  on  tray  for  low." 

"Deuce  here,"  replied  the  Judge. 

"Darn  such  luck !"  said  Bill;  "take  the  corn- 
meal,  Jedge." 

The  Judge  went  out  whistling  a  merry  tune. 
As  he  passed  down  the  street  he  encountered  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Henry. 

"Good  morning,  Judge,"  quoth  the  dominie. 

"Howdy,"  replied  the  Judge. 

"Ah,  Judge,"  said  the  reverend  gentleman, 
earnestly,  "  I  think  that  Dobbins  has  much  to  be 
thankful  for,  that  through  the  blessing  of  Provi 
dence  it  has  been  enabled  to  surmount  its  afflic 
tion  and  distress.  I  trust  that  we  all  appreciate 
the  goodness  and  loving  kindness  of  the  Lord," 


9£4  The  Distribution. 

The  Judge  hastily  thrust  a  stray  card  into  his 
pocket,  patted  his  old  wallet  affectionately,  rolled 
over  his  quid  with  an  easy  movement  of  his  tongue, 
and  replied,  solemnly  : 

"He  doeth  all  things  well." 


That   H^wful   Miss    goulder. 


THAT  AWFUL  MISS  BOULDER. 


FEMALE  society  was  all  agog.  At  the  lunch 
eons,  the  teas,  the  little  dinner-parties;  at  the 
meetings  of  the  literary  clubs;  in  short,  wher 
ever  the  ladies  for  pleasure  or  instruction  came 
together,  the  first  eager  questions  were  :  "  Well, 
have  you  seen  her  ? "  "  And  pray  what  is  she  like  ?  " 
The  unhappy  masculine  creature  who  is  plumped 
down  in  a  coterie  of  women  at  one  of  those  times 
when  they  are  supposed  to  be  enjoying  themselves 
may  well  believe  that  the  world  is  given  over  to 
small  things.  He  may  deprecate,  he  may  shrug 
his  shoulders,  he  may  protest  in  his  puny  lordly 
way,  but,  Heaven  defend  him,  he  is  of  no  more 
consequence  than  my  lady's  cat,  and  much  less  an 
object  of  interest  than  my  lady's  poodle.  Perhaps 
this  is  why  the  sensible  man  avoids  afternoon 
gatherings  when  the  dog-star  rages. 

The  cause  of  the  present  social  agitation  was  in 
the  nature  of  a  remarkable  invasion  involving 
delicate  treatment  and  the  most  diplomatic  meas 
ures.  The  first  explosion  had  taken  place  a  month 
before  when  the  omniscient  Mrs.  Audrain,  swollen 
with  pride  and  information,  and  triumphant  in 


227 


That  Awful  Miss  Moulder. 
the  blessedness  of  a  piece  of  gossip,  had  announced 
that  "  the  Boulders  are  coming  back."     And  this 
intelligence  naturally  prompted  the  younger  gen 
eration  to  ask  :     "  Who  are  the  Boulders  ?  " 

Major  Boulder  had  lived  in  Missouri  at  a  time 
when  "  living  "  for  a  Union  man  was  measurably 
precarious  and  never  of  unalloyed  pleasure.  Where 
he  came  from  nobody  seemed  to  know.  Connect 
icut,  said  some  ;  Ohio,  others;  others,  New  York. 
All  agreed  that  he  was  a  Yankee  in  the  loathsome 
significance  of  the  word,  and  the  Major  would  not 
even  take  the  trouble  to  deny  it.  If  questioned 
sharply,  he  would  reply  that  he  was  a  lawyer,  and 
would  point  to  his  shingle  as  corroborative  evi 
dence,  thereby  intimating  that  professional  confi 
dence  must  be  remunerated.  For,  albeit  a  Yankee, 
it  was  reluctantly  admitted  that  he  was  a  smart 
Yankee.  Hence  the  feeling  against  him  was 
intensified  to  a  virulent  degree. 

When  South  Carolina  committed  the  indiscre 
tion  of  firing  on  Fort  Sumter,  Boulder — he  wasn't 
a  major  then  — unreservedly  declared  that  it  was  a 
"damned  outrage,"  and  when  the  State  began  to 
divide  in  sentiment  he  was  among  the  first  to  join 
the  Federal  ranks.  His  military  career  was  brief, 
for  in  less  than  nine  months  he  came  back  with  a 
desperate  wound.  Experience,  however,  didn't 
change  his  sentiments  or  lessen  the  vigor  of  his 
expressions,  and  so  violent  were  his  speeches  that 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  229 

the  gentlemanly  and  efficient  contemporaneous 
regulator,  Bill  Anderson,  marked  him  for  destruc 
tion.  One  day  the  Major  was  missing.  No  great 
attention  would  have  been  paid  to  this,  but,  un 
happily,  pretty  Susie  Gentry  was  missing  also. 
Inquiry  was  made  at  the  Gentry  residence.  "  The 
repo't,"  said  the  Colonel,  "is  cor-rect.  But  — 

'  have  a  quick  eye  to  see; 
She  hath  deceived  her  father  and  may  thee.'" 

The  Colonel  was  a  man  of  wide  reading  and 
quick  and  pertinent  phrase. 

To  make  an  otherwise  unnecessary  introduction 
desirably  short,  let  it  be  remembered  that  the 
Major  fled  with  his  young  bride  to  Colorado, 
speculated  in  mines,  made  a.  handsome  fortune, 
and,  after  twenty  years  of  good  luck  and  happi 
ness,  yielded  to  the  thin  air,  and  died.  His  wife, 
now  possessed  of  three  daughters  and  a  comfort 
able  income,  found  her  heart  turning  back  to  Mis 
souri  and  her  childhood  associations.  Behold 
them,  then,  fairly  'domesticated  in  the  lower 
breathing-levels  as  this  tale  opens. 

The  apparently  innocent  question,  "Have  you 
seen  her  ?  "  did  not  refer  directly  to  the  pretty  girl 
who  had  run  away  with  the  Yankee  twenty-five 
years  before.  It  was  prompted  by  the  revelations 
of  the  grocer's  boy,  who,  being  on  oath,  testified 
to  old %Mrs.  Dallas  that',  while  delivering  an  order  at 
the  back  door,  he  had  seen  a  mannish-looking  girl 


230  That  Awful  Miss  Boulder. 

at  the  dining-room  window,  with  a  cigarette  in  her 
mouth  and  her  feet  on  a  dead-level  with  her  head. 
This  startling  report  Mrs.  Dallas  promptly  com 
municated  to  Mrs.  Mercer,  who  in  turn  repeated  it 
to  Mrs.  Lawrence,  from  whom  Mrs.  Crawford  re 
ceived  it,  and  so  on  until  the  entire  community  of 
men,  women  and  children  knew  that  the  Boulders 
smoked  and  sat  with  their  feet  on  the  mantel. 

"I  can  readily  believe  that  story,"  said  Mrs. 
Au drain,  "for  when  my  sister,  Mrs.  Brown,  was  in 
Paris  last  summer  she  met  the  eldest  Miss  Boulder 
at  one  of  those  horrid  French  shows  where  there  is 
very  little  dressing  and  a  good  deal  of  kicking. 
The  interest  that  girl  took  in  the  sight  actually 
made  my  sister  shudder.  At  last  she  went  up  to 
her  and  said  :  '  Why,  my  dear  Miss  Boulder,  pray 
what  are  you  doing  here?'  And  the  girl  turned 
around  as  cool  as  you  please  and  replied  :  '  Pray, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Brown,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?J 
My  sister  was  a  good  deal  surprised,  but  she  said, 
very  gently:  'Why,  you  know  I'm  married/ 
And  this  girl  just  laughed  and  tossed  her  head  and 
answered  :  <  Well,  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  hope  to 
be/  Did  you  ever  in  your  life  ?" 

And  all  the  ladies  present  agreed  that  they 
never  did,  and  that  she  must  be  "perfectly  horrid," 
and  some  remembered  that  she  looked  "healthy 
enough,"  and  might  be  reasonably  pretty  were  it 
not  for  a  "rather  cold  eye  "  and  a  "  bad  nose."  As 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  231 

for  her  dressing,  it  was  respectable,  considering  that 
she  had  "  come  from  the  West. " 

This  phrase,  "from  the  West,"  is  purely  relative, 
after  all.  The  New  England  man  regards  Buffalo 
as  the  confines  of  the  setting  sun.  The  Ohio  man 
goes  "  West "  to  Illinois.  In  Chicago  they  think  of 
the  country  beyond  the  Missouri  River.  Kansas 
remembers  that  it  is  the  geographical  center  of  the 
United  States.  In  the  Rocky  Mountains  they 
remind  you  that  they  are  1,200  miles  east  of  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  and  when  the  traveler  reaches  San 
Francisco  and  swears  that  at  last  he  has  run  down 
the  West,  lo  !  he  finds  a  kingdom  in  itself.  So  the 
pursuit  is  hopeless.  There  is  no  West. 

Miss  Boulder  was  not  unconscious  of  the  sensa 
tion  she  had  created.  Indeed,  she  rather  enjoyed 
it.  "Excuse  me,"  she  said, -apologetically,  to  Mrs. 
Audrain,  "  if  I  appear  to  be  a  tenderfoot  to  your 
conventionalities."  "And  what,"  said  the  bewil 
dered  lady,  in  narrating  the  incident  to  her  friends, 
"  is  a  tenderfoot  ?  " 

But  if  to  the  ladies  she  was  a  revelation,  to 
the  men  she  was  a  "stunner,"  q,  "corker,"  a 
"thoroughbred,"  anything  that  in  the  masculine 
vernacular  signifies  a  high-stepping  girl  out  of  the 
ordinary.  She  knew  the  latest  and  the  best  jokes, 
and  some  of  them  were  club  jokes  at  that.  She 
told  a  story  capitally,  and  when  she  laughed  she 
gave  a  hearty,  ringing  laugh  that  made  society 


232  That  Awful  Mis*  Boulder. 

shiver.  In  the  ball-room  she  held  court  in  a  cor 
ner,  and  a  very  full  court  it  was.  The  women 
turned  up  their  noses  and  sniffed  contemptuously  at 
"that  girl"  with  her  "brazen  manners"  and  her 
"off-color  stories,"  but  every  male  creature  dropped 
around  at  least  twice  in  an  evening  to  get  a  bit  of 
Kocky  Mountain  breeze  and,  perhaps  with  a  little 
malicious  incentive,  to  shock  the  austere  pro 
prieties  of  Madam  Grundy. 

At  the  dinner-table  she  always  remembered  that 
she  had  heard  such  a  good  story  that  wouldn't 
keep.  And  to  do  her  justice,  it  was  a  story  that 
had  the  evidences  of  having  been  kept  a  little  too 
long.  The  ladies  shivered  and  turned  pale  and  red 
by  turns,  and  fled  precipitately  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity.  All  of  which  was  highly  diverting  to  the 
awful  Miss  Boulder,  who  followed  the  gentlemen 
into  their  smoking-retreat  and  said  :  "  Xow,  fel 
lows,  the  girls  are  away;  let's  enjoy  ourselves." 
And  the  laughter  and  hilarity  that  floated  back 
into  the  drawing-room  made  the  mothers  of  mar 
riageable  daughters  tremble  with  indignation  and 
send  in  for  their  sons  on  the  most  trivial  pretexts. 

The  catch  of  the  season  beyond  perad venture 
was  Willie  Worth.  Willie  was  the  remaining  prop 
of  an  illustrious  house  that  had  exercised  good 
judgment  during  a  wild  period  of  real  estate  specu 
lation.  Timely  and  advantageous  deaths  in  his 
family  had  left  him  with  a  great  fortune,  no  posi- 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  233 

tive  habits  of  evil,  and  a  weak  and  tremulous 
inclination  to  do  good.  Willie  was  tall  and  slen 
der,  a  partial  victim  to  inanition,  too  weak  to  work 
if  he  had  the  desire,  and  too  rich  if  he  hadn't.  So 
he  passed  his  time  in  a  hopeless  endeavor  to  spend 
his  income  and  to  avoid  the  snares  of  match-mak 
ing  mothers  and  the  pitfalls  of  shrewd  and  calcu 
lating  daughters. 

The  advent  of  the  awful  Miss  Boulder  jarred 
Willie  from  a  spell  of  despondency.  Her  strong, 
robust  figure  appealed  to  his  enfeebled  sensibili 
ties  ;  her  high  animal  spirits  fascinated  him.  Her 
laugh  went  through  him  like  the  shock  of  an  elec 
tric  battery,  and  her  stories,  while  they  made  his 
teeth  chatter  and  his  hair  rise  gently,  filled  him 
with  an  indescribable  longing  for  more.  At  first 
he  was  content  to  hang  on  the  outskirts  of  her 
admirers,  but  little  by  little  he  drew  nearer, 
until  one  evening  she  asked  him,  kindly,  why  he 
never  invited  her  to  dance.  That  completed  the 
spell,  for  Willie's  dancing  amounted  to  a  positive 
disease,  from  which  the  girls  shrank  as  they  would 
from  a  plague.  So  Willie  haunted  her  with  his 
long,  trembling  figure  and  melancholy  face.  He 
even  smoked  a  few  cigarettes  in  order  that  he 
might  be  near  her  after  dinner  and  catch  some  of 
the  ozone  which  she  distributed  so  lavishly.  Per 
ceiving  which,  the  mothers  trembled  more  violently 


234:  That  Awful  Mixs  Boulder. 

and  wished  the  more  heartily  that  the  "creature" 
had  never  left  her  mountain  fastnesses. 

In  turn,  Miss  Boulder  was  attracted  by  the  gen 
tle  Willie.  It  was  the  kindly  law  of  opposites. 
She  was  so  vigorous,  so  straight,  so  full  of  rich 
arterial  blood ;  he  so  frail,  so  willowy,  so  bloodless. 
80  she  petted  him,  and  smiled  on  him,  and  allowed 
him  to  wait  on  her.  And  one  night  in  com 
pany  she  called  him  "Billy,"  a  favor  which  he 
repaid  with  a  look  of  the  most  eloquent  gratitude. 
But  beyond  this  matters  did  not  progress.  She 
had  no  time  for  sentiment. 

It  was  at  the  third  and  final  summer  reception 
of  the  Prairie  Club.  Miss  Boulder  had  been  in 
unusual  spirits,  and  her  jests  and  sallies  had  paled 
the  electric  lights.  Very  handsome  Miss  Boulder 
looked,  and  in  marked  contrast  was  her  perfect 
physical  womanhood  to  the  emaciated  form  of 
Willie,  who  was  trembling  perceptibly  with  weak 
ness  and  pleasure.  Miss  Boulder  was  taking  one 
of  a  series  of  ices  with  Willie  in  a  corner  of  the 
summer-garden,  and  a  pleasant  hush  had  fallen 
upon  the  inviting  scene. 

"Billy,"  said  the  awful  Miss  Boulder,  suddenly, 
"why  don't  you  come  down  to  see  my  kid  ?" 

"  Your  wh  —  what  ?  "  gasped  Willie. 

"  My  kid,  my  baby.  Don't  you  know  that  I 
have  a  baby  ?  " 

Willie   wiped   the   cold    perspiration   from   his 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  235 

brow.     "  I  didn't  know  —  that  is,  I  hadn't  heard  - 
you'll  pardon   me,  but   I   don't  believe   I  exactly 
understood." 

Miss  Boulder  gave  one  of  her  invigorating 
laughs.  "Don't  say  anything  about  it,  Billy  boy, 
for  you  might  get  me  into  trouble  and  summarily 
ruin  my  reputation.  Come  down  to-morrow  after 
noon,  and  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret." 

Willie  sat  up  late  that  night  and  smoked  a 
cigarette,  as  was  his  custom  when  he  was  very 
stern  and  desperate.  Plainly  he  had  allowed 
matters  to  go  too  far.  He  had  permitted  himself 
to  think  even  tenderly  of  a  young  woman  who  not 
only  defied  cherished  conventions,  but  openly 
flaunted  her  improprieties  in  the  face  of  her 
warmest  and  stanchest  friend.  It  was  not  too 
late.  lie  would  show  this  brazen  creature  that  he 
was  a  man  sans  —  sans  —  sans  something;  he 
couldn't  remember  exactly  what  it  was.  Willie  was 
not  strong  in  the  modern  languages.  And  he  went 
to  bed  very  white  from  the  double  effect  of  emotion 
and  cigarette. 

But  in  the  morning  the  old  feeling  came  back. 
After  all,  it  might  be  a  mistake.  Was  it  not  an 
undisputed  fact  that  this  girl  was  a  madcap  to 
whom  nothing  was  too  sacred  for  a  jest  ?  Of 
course  it  was  a  jest,  Any  fool  could  see  that,  and 
Willie  was  prepared  to  admit  in  defense  of  his 
lady-love  that  he  was  very  much  of  a  fool. 


236  That  An  fid  Mi**  Boulder. 

So,  after  luncheon,  having  braced  himself  with 
such  stimulating  influence  as  a  soda  cocktail  affords, 
Willie  went  down  to  the  Boulder  residence.  For 
a  moment  he  stood  on  the  porch  and  admired  the 
clematis  that  climbed  up  and  around  the  column, 
and  he  recalled,  with  a  sudden  gush  of  feeling,  that 
Miss  Boulder  had  worn  a  dress  of  that  color  at  a  lawn 
fete.  The  reminiscence  nearly  took  him  oil'  his 
feet,  but  he  steadied  himself  and  rang  the  bell. 
Miss  Boulder  answered  the  summons.  It  was 
shockingly  unconventional,  but  Willie  rather  liked 
it.  It  made  him  feel  that  the  young  woman  wras 
anxious  to  see  him,  and  in  this  event  any  lapse 
was  excusable.  There  was  a  serious  look  in  Miss 
Boulder's  gray  eyes,  and  almost  a  sadness  in  her 
voice  as  she  said,  gently  : 

"  I  was  afraid  that  perhaps  you  would  not  come. 
Step  in,  Mr.  Worth.  It  is  cooler  in  the  house." 

Willie  was  greatly  troubled.  He  had  nerved, 
himself  to  be  calm,  collected  ;  to  exhibit  a  frigid 
ity  bordering  even  upon  hauteur.  Had  she  called 
him  Billy  he  was  prepared  to  stiffen  and  greet  her 
with  a  chilling  and  commonplace  phrase.  But 
"Mr.  Worth"  was  entirely  too  unexpected  for  his 
programme.  It  brought  before  him  a  gaping 
abyss.  On  the  other  side  of  a  yawning  chasm 
stood  Miss  Boulder,  lie  gazed  at  her  helplessly 
and  shambled  into  the  house,  his  old  weakness  re 
turning  with  alarming  rapidity. 


That  Awful  J//sx  Bouldrr.  237 

Miss  Boulder  preserved  her  gravity  of  tone. 
"  You  seemed  so  unlike  yourself  when  we  parted 
last  night ;  you  were  so  preoccupied  and  so  silent 
that  I  was  sure  I  had  offended  you.  And  you 
know,  Willie"  (this  with  a  most  engaging  air), 
"that  I  could  not  bear  to  have  you  angry  with 
me." 

The  young  man  fidgeted  nervously  in  his  chair. 
"I  presume  I  was  thinking  of  that  baby." 

Miss  Boulder's  face  lighted  up,  and  she  laughed 
quietly.  "  I  promised  I  would  let  you  into  a  secret. 
Wait  a  minute,  and  I  will  produce  the  important 
element." 

.  When  she  had  gone  to  execute  the  writ  of  habeas 
corpus,  Willie  played  with  his  watch-chain  and 
endeavored  to  bring  his  shattered  intellect  to  a 
proper  realization  of  the  situation.  He  had  not 
untangled  his  wits  when  Miss  Boulder  returned 
with  a  triumphant  flush  on  her  cheeks  and  a  great 
mass  of  seemingly  superfluous  clothing  in  her 
arms. 

"There,"  said  Miss  Boulder,  "what  do  you  think 
of  my  little  beauty  ? " 

Willie  rose  irresolutely  and  poked  feebly  at  the 
bundle  with  his  stick.  Then  he  drew  a  little 
nearer  and  clucked  once  or  twice.  Feeling  the 
necessity  of  saying  something,  he  remarked  :  "  It's 
a  beautiful  child,  but  it  seems  to  have  a  lot  of 
color.  Why,  it's  got  its  eyes  open." 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder. 

"Of  courses"  answered  Miss  Boulder,  with  sonic 
asperity;  "you  don't  suppose  that  babies  are  like 
cats,  do  you  ?  " 

"1  didn't  know,"  said  Willie,  doubtfully;  "I 
thought  perhaps  some  of  them  might  be." 

"K"ot  until  they're  grown  up,"  said  Miss  Boul 
der,  reflectively.  And  she  cast  a  wicked  look  across 
the  street,  where  old  Mrs.  Dallas  had  her  habita 
tion. 

A  long  silence  followed.  Then  Willie  plunged 
in  desperately  :  '-'It  doesn't  look  a  bit  like  you." 

"Sir  I  "said  Miss  Boulder. 

"I  suppose  it  takes  after  its  father.  I  have 
heard  somewhere  that  girl  babies  always  do  take 
after  the  father,  though  I  don't  see  why  they 
should.  I  presume  it  has  something  to  do  with 
physiology." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Miss  Boulder,  coolly, 
"the  baby  is  the  perfect  picture  of  the  mother." 

Willie  stared  at  the  young  girl  and  marveled  at 
her  extraordinary  self -possession.  So  innocent  and 
fair  she  looked,  so  seemingly  unconscious  of  the 
great  shadow  she  had  thrown  on  her  life.  He  shut 
his  eyes  and  groaned  inwardly. 

"And  now,"  said  Miss  Boulder,  gayly,  "now  for 
the  secret.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  I  do  a  little 
slumming  in  a  quiet  and  private  way,  just  for  my 
own  amusement.  Doubtless,  you  read  in  the  paper 
of  the  man  who  was  killed  by  the  falling  of  the 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  239 

elevator,  and  of  the  death  of  his  wife  from  the 
shock  two  days  later.  It  was  my  luck  or  chance 
to  drop  in  at  the  house,  and  there  I  found  this  lit 
tle  baby.  It  looked  so  lonesome  and  so  helpless 
that  —  well,  I  brought  it  home ;  and  now  that  I 
have  it,  I  suppose  the  whole  town  will  be  pulling 
me  over  the  coals."  And  the  awful  Miss  Boulder 
looked  positively  distressed. 

Willie  had  well-nigh  collapsed  during  the  recital. 
He  shook  his  feeble  legs  together  and  walked  to 
the  window.  When  he  turned  around,  his  face 
was  beaming. 

"  Margaret  —  that  is  to  say,  Miss  Boulder,  I  think 
I  should  like  to  hold  it." 

"Take  care,"  said  Miss  Boulder,  anxiously. 
"  What  are  you  feeling  down  there  for  ?  Don't 
you  know  that  babies  aren't  measured  by  the 
length  of  their  clothes  ?  You're  hunching  her 
dress  up  around  her  neck." 

"  It's  a  beautiful  baby,"  cried  the  radiant  Willie, 
"even  if  it  is  a  little  too  red  and  fat."  Then,  as  if 
an  inspiration  had  seized  him :  "  Margaret,  you 
come  over  on  the  sofa  and  hold  it.  I  feel  as  if  I 
might  drop  it." 

So  Miss  Boulder  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and 
chirped  to  the  baby  and  talked  "goo"  talk.  And 
the  infant  clutched  at  Willie's  mustache,  which  set 
that  young  gentleman  oil  in  a  spasm  of  admiration. 
And  Miss  Boulder  danced  the  baby  in  her  arms 


240  That  Awful  Mis*  Jimdder. 

and  kissed  her,  and  Willie  leaned  over  and  pressed 
liis  lips  as  near  the  same  place  as  possible,  and  the 
merry  minutes  flew  by  very  rapidly  to  all  concerned. 
At  last,  in  a  lull  of  osculation,  Willie  straightened 
his  long,  thin  legs  and  said,  in  a  strained  voice  : 

"Margaret,  I  have  been  wanting  to  say  some 
thing  to  you  for  a  long  time." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  Miss  Boulder,  without  a 
particle  of  trepidation;  "you  want  to  ask  me  to 
marry  you." 

"  What  a  girl  you  are  ! "  exclaimed  Willie,  admir 
ingly.  "You  ought  to  have  been  a  mind-reader." 

"Now  listen,  Willie,"  said  Miss  Boulder,  ear 
nestly;  "  I  suppose  if  I  were  like  most  girls  I  should 
blush  and  simper  and  say,  <0h,  Mr.  Worth,  this  is 
so  sudden/  It's  a  foolish  way  that  most  girls 
have.  They  arc  trying  to  deceive  you.  They  can 
tell  to  the  minute  when  a  man  is  in  love  with 
them.  I  have  known  for  weeks  that  you  cared  for 
me,  and  I  might  have  drawn  you  out  two  months 
ago.  But  I  wanted  to  give  you  time  to  know  your 
own  mind  thoroughly." 

"Then  you  do  love  me,"  said  the  fluttering 
Willie. 

"  Not  so  fast,  please.  I  will  confess  that  at  first  I 
took  a  little  malicious  pleasure  in  getting  you  away 
from  the  other  girls.  It  was  such  fun  ;  they  were 
so  awfully  jealous.  All  the  old  match-makers  in 
town  were  after  you,  and  how  they  glared  when  I 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  241 

whirled  you  up  past  their  corner.  And  I  did  it 
pretty  often.  But  after  a  while  I  learned  to  miss 
you  when  you  didn't  come  around,  and  to  look  for 
you.  You  were  always  so  nice  and  gentle  and 

thoughtful  and  kind  —  and  —  and  " Here  the 

awful  Miss  Boulder  fell  to  kissing  the  baby  raptur 
ously. 

"  Then,"  said  Willie,  decidedly,  "  I  don't  see  why 
we  shouldn't  get  married  right  off." 

"There's  something  yet,"  went  on  Miss  Boulder, 
slowly.  "I'm  an  unconventional  girl,  and  I  know 
I  make  awful  breaks.  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
West,  where  I  did  as  I  pleased,  and  cared  for  no 
body's  opinion.  I  can't  say  that  I  care  very  much 
now,  but  I'm  not  going  to  marry  any  man  who  is 
ashamed  of  me." 

"I'm  unconventional  myself,"  said  Willie, 
eagerly.  "  I  hate  these  forms  and  ceremonies,  this 
solemn  sitting  in  state  until  a  maid  comes  in  and 
breaks  the  deadly  stillness  by  whispering  that  din 
ner  is  served.  I  like  a  house  where  they  ring  the 
dinner-bell,  and  people  just  sort  of  drop  down  and 
eat." 

"But  you  wouldn't  like,"  said  Miss  Boulder, 
smilingly,  "  a  wife  who  has  the  reputation  of  being 
loud,  of  telling  'men-stories,'  and"  (bitterly)  "of 
smoking  cigarettes  and  cocking  her  feet  on  the 
mantel  like  a  man." 

"  I  must  admit/'  said  the  truthful  Willie,  "  that 


242  That  Awful  Mis*  Boulder. 

some  of  your  stories  are  pretty  tough,  but  after  we 
are  married  you  might  work  'em  off  on  me  in 
private  and  let  me  pass  on  'em.  As  for  these 
people  here,  what  do  we  care  for  them  ?  I've  got 
lots  of  money,  and,  if  things  don't  go  right,  the 
country  is  big,  and  Europe  isn't  shut  up  yet." 

Miss  Boulder  did  not  reply.  She  toyed  with  the 
baby's  chubby  hand  a  moment.  Then  she  looked 
up  suddenly,  and  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

Willie  was  deeply  affected.  "  Don't  cry,  Mar 
garet,"  he  said,  hastily;  "you're too  strong  and  too 
sort  of  manly  to  cry.  I  think  it  would  be  better 
to  let  me  do  all  the  crying." 

The  girl  smiled  and  said  gently  :  "  Come,  Willie, 
run  away  now,  there's  a  good  boy.  W^e  both  need 
a  little  time  to  think. "  Then  she  added,  naively  ; 
tf  You  might  come  around  this  evening  after  the 
baby  has  gone  to  bed." 

Willie,  who  had  acquired  marvelous  strength 
in  his  legs,  and  whose  face  radiated  all  the  happi 
ness  of  his  feelings,  moved  briskly  to  the  door,  A 
thought  struck  him,  and  he  returned.  The  awful 
Miss  Boulder  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
holding  the  baby  in  her  arms,  kissing  it  and  coo 
ing  to  it  as  it  laughed  in  her  face.  And  Willie 
thought  he  saw  in  her  expression  a  loveliness,  a 
gentleness  he  had  never  seen  before.  The  girl 
looked  up  and  blushed.  Willie  took  a  step  for 
ward  and  said,  awkwardly  : 


That  Awful  Miss  Boulder.  243 

"  Margaret,  I  thought  I  would  like  —  that  is,  if 
you  don't  object  —  er-r  —  won't  you  let  me  kiss 
the  baby  again  ?  " 

"Oh/ Willie!" 

"Oh,  Margaret!" 


of   Qilas   gcott. 


THE  LUCK  OF  SILAS  SCOTT. 


TKAGEDY  should  be  short.  Tales  of  sorrow  and 
despair  must  be  quickly  told.  There  is  so  much 
that  is  bright  and  beautiful  and  alluring  in  life  that 
he  is  abnormally  constituted  who  would  linger  and 
grieve  over  the  dark  places  in  human  existence.  It 
is  right  that  the  reader  should  know  in  advance 
ii  little  of  the  misery  that  is  awaiting  him.  If  he 
cannot  be  forewarned  in  the  actual  events  of  life 
it  does  not  follow  that  the  same  rule  must  apply  to 
his  literature.  lie  deserves  a  measure  of  consid 
eration  from  his  story-teller,  a  sort  of  sign-board 
that  may  act  as  a  danger-signal.  This  is  a  tale  with 
a  deep  coating  of  umber,  and  he  who  reads  may 
run,  if  the  paraphrase  is  permitted.  At  all  events, 
he  cannot  say  that  the  warning  has  not  been  frank 
and  timely. 

Far  out  in  Western  Kansas  stretches  a  vast  coun 
try,  a  veritable  empire,  rising  gradually  to  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  a  country  to  tax  human  patience, 
human  industry,  human  ingenuity.  It  is  a  coun 
try  that  might  have  exhausted  the  possibilities 
of  an  Arabian  night  with  its  capriciousness,  its 
kaleidoscopic  changes,  its  splendors,  when  fickle 
247 


248  The  Luck  of  Silax  Xcott. 

Nature  is  favorable  ;  its  terrors,  when  she  frowns. 
It  is  a  country  of  which  the  Government  says  to 
the  long  caravan  of  immigration  :  "  Why  delay  in 
the  poor,  sterile  land  of  small  things  when  all  this 
may  be  had  for  the  mere  asking  ?  "  So  the  tide 
ebbs  and  flows ;  they  go  and  come,  and  they  come 
and  go,  and  the  great  drama  of  life,  with  its  shifts 
and  changes,  is  acted  over  and  over  in  the  count 
less  stories  of  the  wide-stretching  plains. 

The  voyager  adrift  in  a  rowboat  on  the  Atlantic 
has  no  greater,  no  more  crushing  sense  of  his  utter 
loneliness  than  the  traveler  who  finds  himself  alone 
on  the  plains  of  the  AVest.  One  is  land,  the  other 
water ;  otherwise  the  conditions  are  the  same. 
The  sun  rises  at  the  dead  level  of  the  horizon  and 
goes  down  in  the  same  terrible  expanse.  In  the 
summer  it  brings  its  seemingly  endless  hours  of 
heat  and  torment ;  in  the  winter  it  only  mocks  at 
misery  and  fear.  To  add  to  the  perplexity  of  the 
traveler  on  the  plains,  Nature  herself  conspires 
to  taunt  him.  Now  he  sees  a  beautiful  grove  with 
its  restful  shade  and  running  stream,  and  quickly 
it  vanishes  in  the  cruel  disappointment  of  the 
mirage.  And  now  almost  at  his  hand  he  welcomes 
a  landmark  or  a  haven  of  refuge,  and  presses 
eagerly  forward,  mile  after  mile,  only  to  see  it 
dancing  on  before  him,  deluding  him  with  the 
magnifying  properties  of  the  atmosphere.  If  the 
summer  has  been  dry,  as  the  summer  usually  is, 


The  Lurk  of  Sila*  Scott.  240 

the  earth  is  brown  and  baked,  the  streams  are 
gone,  and  miles  of  cheerless  sand  are  the  only 
promise  of  the  day  passing  and  the  days  to  come. 
Such  pictures  as  these,  and  common  as  they  are, 
the  traveler  cannot  exaggerate, 

Silas  Scott  was  a  farmer  in  one  of  the  Eastern 
States,  a  plain,  plodding,  hard-working  man  with 
enough  education  to  keep  abreast  of  the  times,  and 
enough  ambition  to  desire  to  better  his  lot.  Silas 
lived  in  a  moving  neighborhood.  One  by  one  his 
friends  and  acquaintances  dropped  out,  and  word 
came  back  to  Silas  that  they  had  all  gone  West 
and  prospered.  So  Silas  in  time,  for  he  was  a 
slow  thinker,  felt  the  Western  fever  in  his  blood. 
He  was  making  a  living  for  himself  and  family, 
but  it  was  a  living  that  came  hard  and  slowly,  and 
there  he  was,  tilling  a  few  acres  of  ground  to  call 
his  own,  when  the  Government  was  knocking  at 
his  door,  reproaching  him  for  his  conservatism, 
and  asking  him  why  he  didn't  go  out  and  take  1GO 
acres  of  land  in  the  West,  just  for  the  claiming. 
Silas  thought  it  out  in  his  ponderous  way,  and  the 
temptation  was  too  strong.  He  was  young,  his 
wife  was  young,  his  children  were  strong  and 
healthy  ;  the  opportunity  was  dazzling.  So  into 
far  Kansas  came  Silas  with  his  family  and  began  a 
new  existence  on  the  plains. 

The  story  of  Silas  Scott  in  his  pursuit  of  an  easy 
living  is  the  story  that  has  been  told  a  thousand 


250  Tlic  Luck  of  Silas  Scott. 

times  by  those  who  believe  in  the  hard  and  doubt 
ful  qualities  of  luck.  It  was  bad  luck  that  led 
Silas  to  the  selection  of  his  quarter  section  remote 
from  those  who  might  have  been  kind  and  helpful 
neighbors,  and  in  a  spot  where  only  the  most 
favorable  conditions  of  weather  could  assure  a 
profitable  crop.  It  was  bad  luck  that  the  year  was 
one  of  the  most  disastrous  ever  known  to  the 
farmers  of  Kansas  ;  that  the  burning  sun  and  the 
unbroken  drought  began  the  work  of  destruction 
which  the  fierce,,  hot  w^nds  speedily  completed. 
But  Silas  was  a  man  of  character,  with  a  good  deal 
of  dogged  determination.  He  had  gone  to  work 
to  put  up  his  little  adobe  house  —  not  as  comforta 
ble  as  the  one  he  had  left,  the  little  frame  dwelling 
back  East,  but  good  enough  for  a  start,  and  prom 
ising  to  lead  to  better  things.  He  worked  early  and 
late,  studied  the  conditions  of  the  soil,  and  made 
all  the  calculations  and  allowances  that  a  careful 
man  should  make.  There  was  no  time  for  pleasure 
or  relaxation,  and  there  was  no  thought  of  it. 
What  mattered  one  or  two  years  of  toil  if  they  led 
to  a  peaceful  future  and  an  abundancy  of  fortune  ? 
So  Silas  and  his  wife  worked  on  uncomplainingly, 
and  if  the  wife  grew  a  little  thinner,  and  both  were 
careworn  and  more  weary  as  the  weeks  passed  by, 
neither  had  time  to  notice  it. 

"It'll  be  all  right,  Nancy,"  said  Silas,  when  the 
spring  storms  came  on  with  irresistible  force  and 


The  Luck  of  Silas  Scott.  251 

washed  away  the  results  of  his  early  labors  ;  "  luck 
is  against  us  at  the  start,  but  it  will  turn." 

"It's  all  right,  Nancy,"  he  repeated  at  the  end  of 
the  first  year,  when  he  sat  down  to  figure  up  his 
season's  profits  and  found  himself  far  behind  his 
original  calculations.  "  A  bad  beginning  makes  a 
good  ending." 

And  when,  in  the  second  summer,  the  long  dry 
spell  set  in,  and  the  grain  blistered  and  cracked  in 
the  burning  sun,  his  pluck  never  forsook  him, 
and  his  "  It's  all  right/'  was  as  firm  as  ever.  Then 
the  winds  came  hot  and  furious,  and  the  earth 
seemed  on  fire  ;  the  creeks  dried  up,  and  vegeta 
tion  perished.  "It's  all  right,"  he  muttered, 
less  hopefully. 

"Don't  cry,  Nancy,"  he  said,  when  the  baby, 
born  in  that  atmosphere  of  despair,  gave  up  the 
struggle  and  yielded  its  little  life.  "Perhaps  it's 
for  the  best.  It's  all  right,  or  it  wouldn't  have 
come  about."  And  his  own  voice  quivered. 

But  the  mother,  sitting  by  the  bed  and  closing 
the  baby's  eyes,  said  not  a  word.  She  was  back 
again  in  the  old  home,  where  the  trees  were  green 
and  the  brooks  were  full.  The  pain  in  her  heart 
was  stilled,  for  memory  had  carried  her  away  to 
happier  times  and  deluded  her  with  a  dream  of  the 
past. 

All  that  suffocating  day  Silas  sat  under  the 
shadow  of  the  shed,  fashioning  the  rude  coffin  for 


252  The  Luck  of  titta*  Xr-oti. 

the  dead  child.  The  hot  winds  were  still  blowing 
with  that  peculiar,  menacing  hiss  that  came  as  the 
breath  of  the  venomous  serpent,  but  Silas  worked 
on,  struggling  with  his  rising  doubts,  and  vainly 
endeavoring  to  solace  himself  with  his  favorite 
maxim,  "It's  all  right."  In  the  house  the  mother 
was  preparing  for  the  burial,  which  was  to  take 
place  when  the  sun  went  down.  On  the  baby's 
breast  and  in  his  tiny  hand  she  had  placed  little 
bunches  of  dried  flowers,  the  only  offering  that 
Nature  could  give,  and  from  the  trunk  she  had 
taken  a  battered  prayer-book,  that  Silas  might 
read  the  service  for  the  dead  and  give  her  baby  at 
least  the  semblance  of  a  Christian  burial. 

In  the  evening,  as  they  stood  around  the  little 
grave,  the  father,  the  mother  and  the  older  chil 
dren,  hushed  and  awed  in  the  first  manifestation 
of  irremediable  affliction,  Silas,  in  his  dull,  heavy 
way,  stumbled  through  the  service  his  wife  had 
marked : 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.  ...  I 
know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth.  .  .  .  And  now, 
Lord,  what  is  my  hope  ?  ...  He  hcapeth  up 
riches  and  cannot  tell  who  shall  gather  them. 
.  .  .  We  brought  nothing  into  this  world,  and  it 
is  certain  we  can  carry  nothing  out." 

These  and  many  similar  passages  Silas  read  and 
did  not  understand,  for  he  was  a  dull  man,  and 
grasped  only  the  tangible  things  of  tho  present. 


Tlie  Luck  of  Silas  Scott. 

He  filled  in  the  grave  and  followed  his  wife  into 
the  house,  while  the  children  played  about  in  the 
joyless  way  that  characterized  their  lives. 

That  night,  while  the  children  were  sleeping  and 
Silas  sat  in  his  chair  pondering  over  the  shaping 
of  events,  Nancy  stood  in  the  doorway  and  looked 
out  across  the  plains.  The  moon  was  full  and 
bright,,  but  to  the  woman  it  was  not  the  same 
kindly  moon  that  her  girlhood  remembered.  Far 
away  came  the  wail  of  the  coyote,  and  Nancy 
shuddered.  She  had  heard  that  half-human,  quer 
ulous  cry  a  thousand  times,  but  never  before  had 
it  come  to  her  with  such  significance.  She  shut 
the  door  hastily,  drew  close  to  her  husband,  and 
sat  down  beside  him.  Then  she  put  her  hand  on 
his  arm  and  said,  gently : 

"  Silas,  why  not  give  up  ?  We've  done  all  that 
human  beings  can  do,  and  we're  as  far  away  as 
ever.  What  good  can  come  from  fighting  fate  ?  " 

Silas  moved  a  little  uneasily.  "Why,  it's  all 
right,  Nancy,"  he  said,  soothingly. 

"  That's  what  you've  always  said,"  exclaimed  the 
woman,  with  sudden  energy.  "It  has  been  'all 
right '  with  you  when  our  hearts  and  our  common 
sense  told  us  it  was  all  wrong.  Perhaps  our  baby 
thought  it  was  all  right  when  he  came  to  brighten 
us  up  a  bit.  It  is  all  right  with  him  now,  and  it 
will  be  all  right  with  us  when  we  go  to  join  him." 


The  Luck  of  tiHas  Scutt. 

"I  wouldn't  talk  that  way,  Nancy,"  said  the 
man,  slowly. 

"  How  else  can  I  talk  ?  "  replied  the  wife.  "  We 
have  lived  this  wretched  life  without  a  spark  of 
hope,  a  particle  of  encouragement.  Bad  luck  has 
followed  us  from  the  start  and  has  shown  us  no 
future.  We  are  alone,  without  friends  and  with 
out  comfort.  Every  morning  the  sun  comes  up 
like  a  ball  of  fire  and  brings  fresh  misery  to  this 
desert.  You  know  what  that  awful  sun  means, 
Silas.  Look  in  the  insane  asylum  of  this  State 
and  find  its  victims.  What  has  become  of  old 
Prouty,  a  stronger  man  than  you,  Silas,  who 
defied  its  power  ?  A  month  ago  he  was  carried 
away  a  hopeless  maniac,  and  we  have  remained  to 
invite  his  fate.  Every  night  I  go  to  bed  thinking 
of  old  Prouty  and  listening  to  the  mocking  of  the 
wind  and  the  howling  of  the  wolf.  I  can't  stand 
it  any  longer." 

"Fve  tried  to  be  as  easy  on  you  as  I  can,"  said 
the  man,  by  way  of  blundering  apology. 

"I  don't  find  fault  with  you,  Silas,  but  I'm 
hungry  for  the  old  home.  We  were  happy  there 
if  we  were  poor.  We  worked  hard,  but  we  always 
made  a  living,  and  if  we  got  a  little  tired  and 
despondent  at  times  we  had  our  friends,  and  the 
little  farm  with  the  great  green  shade-trees,  and 
the  birds  singing  in  them.  Here  we  have  nothing 
but  a  huge  plain  and  a  blazing  sun.  Let's  go  back, 


The  Luck  of  Silas  Scott.  255 

Silas,  where  at  least  we  can  find  a  little  happiness, 
and  —  where  there  is  a  God." 

The  woman  put  her  head  on  her  husband's 
shoulder.  .Then  she  said,  a  little  more  calmly  : 
"  Did  you  believe  the  words  you  repeated  at  our 
baby's  grave  ?  Did  you  really  think  there  was  a 
God  in  this  horrible  place  to  hear  them  ?  '  I  am 
the  resurrection  and  the  life/  Can  a  God  bring 
comfort  to  those  who  mock  him  by  calling  to  him 
from  a  desert  where  their  foolish  ambitions  have 
led  them  ?  Why  should  we  try  to  heap  up  riches 
or  carry  to  the  grave  more  than  we  brought  into 
the  world  ?  " 

Silas  looked  bewildered.  The  woman's  swift 
application  of  the  texts  began  to  penetrate  his  dull 
reason.  He  stared  helplessly  at  his  wife,  and  pat 
ted  her  on  the  shoulder  for  an  answer. 

"  I  don't  complain  for  myself,  Silas.  I  don't  care 
much  what  becomes  of  me,  except  at  times  when 
the  old  home  feeling  comes  back.  But  I  see  you 
growing  ten  years  older  in  a  single  summer.  I  see 
the  anxious  look  and  the  furrows  in  your  face.  I 
know  you're  unhappy  and  losing  heart.  And  I 
see  our  children  growing  up  neglected  and  ignor 
ant.  We  had  opportunities  and  a  fair  chance 
when  we  were  young.  Oh,  Silas,  let's  go  back,  if 
only  for  their  sakes." 

The  woman  broke  down.  The  man,  too,  felt 
himself  strangely  stirred.  He  got  up  and  walked 


25(5  The  Luck  of  Silas  Scoff. 

to  the  door.  One  glance  was  enough  to  show  him 
the  ruin  of  the  summer  and  the  hopelessness  oi'  the  . 
year.  He  thought  in  his  turn  of  the  little  home 
back  yonder,  and  of  the  pleasant  times  they  had  on 
the  small  profits  of  their  industry.  There  was  the 
little  red  school-house  —  the  same  one  he  went  to 
when  he  was  a  boy.  And  the  old  meeting-house  too. 
He  found  himself  wondering  whether  they  had  put 
on  that  fresh  coat  of  paint  they  were  discussing 
when  he  came  away.  And  the  lane  that  led  down 
to  the  squire's.  And  the  old  apple-tree  that 
stood  right  at  the  left  of  the  bend.  And  Bill 
Simpson's  fishing-hole.  And  Thompson's  grocery, 
where  the  boys  elected  a  President  of  the  United 
States  every  Saturday  night.  Silas  felt  his  eyes 
getting  moist. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  would  the  boys  say  if 
he  gave  up  beaten  and  went  back  ?  Ought  he  to 
surrender  to  a  little  momentary  weakness  ?  Jim 
Higgins  had  gone  away  and  succeeded,  and  so  had 
Henry  Cole,  and  so  had  John  Grubb,  the  most 
shiftless  man  in  the  county.  Could  he  go  back 
and  acknowledge  that  he  had  been  taken  in  ? 
Could  he  stand  up  and  hear  old  Bill  Simpson  say  : 
"  Waal,  here's  Si  hum  ag'in  ;  jest  as  I  pel-dieted, 
by  gum"? 

Silas  took  a  turn  around  the  house  and  paused 
at  the  baby's  grave.  "It  wasn't  much  of  a  light 
lie  made,"  he  muttered.  "I  guess  that's  the  way 


TJie  Luck  of  Silas  Scott.  257 

with  all  children."  And  a  horrible  fear  took  hold 
of  him  all  at  once,  as  he  thought  of  the  little  ones 
huddled  asleep  in  a  corner  of  the  miserable  room. 
So  he  came  back,  and,  going  up  to  the  bed,  gazed 
long  and  intently  upon  them,  then  turned  to  his 
wife,  sitting  patient  and  silent  where  he  had  left 
her.  And  he  looked  into  her  wan  face,  and  the 
flush  came  into  his  own.  Stooping  down,  he  kissed 
the  tired  eyes  and  said,  as  if  a  great  load  had  been 
lifted  from  his  heart : 

"It's  all  right,  Nancy.     It's  all  right,  mother. 
Good  luck  has  come  at  last.     We're  going  back." 


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turning  out  a  great  quantity  of  books,  which  are  crowding  Jrom 
countless  book-counters  and  news-stands  the  multiplied  trash 
which  used  to  flood  the  country.  Many  of  the  Schulte  books  are 
with  a  purpose,  but  he  is  putting  bcjore  his  public  too  books  that 
show  the  beginning  of  a  live  native  literature  m  tie  MiddteWest 
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Bmlore'  have  the  genuine  self-respecting  flavor  of  the  soil,  are 
doinq  a  work  for  American  literature  which  cannot  be  lightly 
estimated  either  in  its  influence  or  its  direct  achievement^ 

—  J3OSTON     1  RAJii  oL 


F.  J.  SCHULTE  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

298  Dearborn  Street,  Chicago. 


74404 


